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POEMS. 



EDITED BY 



SIDNEY RUSSEL 




/ 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1859. 



DEDICATION. 



Who, in my various labors in literature, has cheered me by 
the constancy of her affection, her sympathy, and faith in 
me, and who is more intimately associated with the blissful 
period of childhood (in which our growth was twin-like for 
intimacy) than any other,— this volume is gratefully dedi- 
cated. 

August 3, 1858. 



PREFACE. 



I DO not know whether these Poems breathe a higher 
inspiration than the majority of compositions of a poetical 
character which have been issued from the American Press 
heretofore. But I do know that the poetry of America 
ranks infinitely below that of Greece, Italy, England, Spain, 
even of France — for France has produced a B6ranger — and 
marks no era of this nation's history. 

True, we are young as a nation ; but not too young to 
have produced a great Poet. A country which has given 
birth to so great a moral hero as Washington, to so great 
a sage as Franklin, and latterly, to so great a statesman as 
Webster, need not despair of its Poet. We are undoubt- 
edly the most intellectual nation since the time of the early 
Greeks, and promise more than any which has existed since 
them, (our very so-called " self-conceit" springs from a con- 
sciousness of this fact : the English develop this quality 
in an almost equal degree ; the Greeks, the greatest nation, 
in a mental sense, whose record is preserved to us, did in a 

1* (v) 



VI PRErACE. 

paramount one.) In our government, our immunities, we 
are, above all others, the people to foster genius of every 
grade, and in every department of o.l<70r^<7i<:;. 

Why may we not achieve in poetry what has been already 
so nobly achieved in sculpture ? There is appreciation for 
inspiration, and material for culture in our country. The 
American people love knowledge, and lavish the wealth 
they are indefatigable in acquiring, oftener in ministering 
to intellectual wants than any others. Young minds have 
access to the literary master-pieces of all ages and nations, 
for the cheapness of every species of literature in this 
country is proverbial. 

We want a universal Poet. Would that we had a Goethe, 
who would sing both lyrics and epics for us equally well. 
A great Poet must be able to enter into every mood of 
men's minds : he must possess not only strength, and sweet- 
ness, and calm, and exhibit dignity and ease in versifica- 
tion, but vast insight into the passions of man's nature, 
and power of original conception (that faculty commonly 
called invention) must be his. His inspiration must be in 
Reason as well as Imagination ; and, in truth, to excel as a 
Poet, he must be a philosopher : poetry is the essence of 
all high philosophy. 

We have no Beranger to write our songs and odes ; we 
have no Tennyson nor Browning. Our Poets reproduce 
too much of the spirit of the age, which is narrow and sor- 
did in its achievements and aims — one of shallow tastes 



PREFACE. VU 

and material triumphs : an age, to use the words of another, 
" of spiritual discomfort, and wanting in moral grandeur :" 
a greater than he has typified it more clearly under the 
form of Mephistopheles in Faust.^ 

We have little thorough discipline ; little of the lofty 
Calm of inspiration in our native verse ;t little of that se- 
rene wisdom which speaks so plainly of power Titanic in 
its purpose and sweep, if it chooses to reveal itself in full 
strength : the repose of Goethe covering the grandest 
powers of action, the smiling aspect which haloed the gi- 
gantic heroism of Jean Paul, and the lofty indififerentism 
of "Wordsworth, are alike unknown among us. We believe, 
indeed, with Carlyle, that it takes centuries to produce a 
great Poet ; but again we recur to the idea of Washington, 
and believe in our country's capacity to give birth to great- 
ness, and to discern the heroic beauty of a gifted soul. 

We know with Matthew Arnold, that the conception 
and delineation of a great action constitutes a great poem ; 
but who have we among us who possesses anything of the 
discipline of the Greek poets ; of Goethe's calm ; or who 



^ Carlyle calls him (Mephistopheles) " an impersonation of 
modern worldly-mindedness." Review of Goethe's Helena, 
Carlyle's Miscellaneous Writings. 

f Bryant and Longfellow have done much to defend us from 
this charge ; but we want yet stronger spirits than they, and 
owning a wider and higher inspiration, to make us truly great 
in a poetical sense. 






viii PREFACE. 



practices in life and works as well as praises in song, his 
sublime, "unhasting, unresting" philosophy? 

The extraordinary triumphs of our countrymen in plas- 
tic art, prove that great conceptive power is not wanting 
among us to give birth to Poems as great ; and we know 
that it is not for want of opportunities of culture. Our 
mechanical triumphs interrupt the repose necessary to the 
Poet above all others ; but the very power exhibited in this 
direction may prove the greater broadness of our mental 
constitution. 

For myself, I have but to say that I have had, as yet, no 
reason to suppose my claims to poetical distinction para- 
mount. Poetry has been with me the practice and solace 
of a self-isolated youth : I early learned from experience, 
that nourishment for the faculty was not to be found in 
what is denominated " society" — that the frequent presence 
of the worldly chilled it, and dimmed the ardor of its in- 
spirations ; that patient study, a self-acquired discipline, 
and mental repose, were necessary to high conception or 
valuable execution. 

I might assume an apologetic air, and say that this small 
volume of reflective and descriptive Poems was mostly 
written while the author was yet in his minority : but be- 
lieving that this statement would affect their reception as 
little as their merit, I refrain ; willing to let these early 
efforts make their own appeals, and stand or fall as they 
are worthy or the contrary. 



PREFACE. IX 

Whether or not I have done anything toward infusing a 
more correct taste, a greater calm, a more expanded and 
vigorous spirit into our literature in these Poems, I leave 
the American Public to decide. 

August 3, 1858. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Dedication 3 

Preface 5 

Hebe and Ganymede 17 

Morning Song 20 

The Past and Present, a Reverie 21 

Recollection 25 

A Page from Life 26 

The Harvest Vision 31 

A Problem 33 

To My Sister 34 

To Evening Primroses 36 

The First Grief 38 

The Parted Lovers 40 

Song 42 

Spring and the Poet 43 

April 44 

God Declared in Nature 45 

The Poet's Soliloquy 47 

A Modern Cleopatra 48 

To my Bird Escaped 50 

Night and Song 52 

Religious Element Active in all Ages 53 

Songs 55 

Musings 57 

The Lovers 58 

Recompense 60 

Alcestis 62 

Reflections 62 

To N., Written in an Album 64 

To M., Written in an Album 64 

The Swiss Peasant's Lament 65 

(xi) 






Xli CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To Evening 66 

The Trio 67 

Of an Evening 69 

The Living and the Dead 71 

Childhood and Youth 72 

The Artist's Picture 74 

Supposed to be Written on Shipboard 76 

June : 77 

An Idyl 78 

The Palace of Nature 81 

The Emigrant 83 

The Church 84 

Remembrance, from Matthisson 85 

Autumn 86 

Extracts from an Unpublished Poem 94 

The Poet and the Caviller 101 

SONNETS. 

I. Childhood 103 

XL The Poet's Crown 103 

III. Nature's Sympathy 104 

IV. Autumn 104 

V. Autumn (continued) 105 

VI. Autumn (continued) 106 

VII. On Seeing Rosa Bonheur's "Attelage Nivernais" 106 

VIII. On a Betrothal •. 107 

IX. Patience 107 

X. Patience (continued) 108 

XL Alcestis 109 

XIL Alcestis (continued) 109 

XIII. The Poet's Sense of Misconception 110 

XIV. To My Mother 110 

XV. Memory 11] 

XVL Address to Ellis Bell's Soul 112 

XVIL Goethe 112 

XVIIL Music 113 

XIX. Music (continued) 114 

XX. Music (continued) 114 

XXI. Music (concluded) 115 

XXII. On Seeing the Portrait of Raphael 116 

XXIIL Homer 116 

XXIV. Homer (continued) 117 

XXV. Homer (concluded) 118 



POEMS. 



X** 



Wie das Gestirn, 
Olme Hast, 
Aber oline East, 
Drehe sich jeder 
Um die eigne Last. 

Goethe. 

Unter taiisend frohen Stunden, 
So im Leben ich gefimden, 
Blieb nur eine mir getreu, — 

■X- * -x- -x- 

Und von alien Lebenstunden 
Wird nur die, wie meine Wunden, 
Ewig heiter ofien stehn. 

NOVALIS. 



UdvTaq yap (piXioAV^. 

^'Oixr^poc. 

(XV) 



POEMS. 



HEBE AND GANYMEDE. 

Let flow the amber wine 
While my soul flows into thine, 

Ganymede ! 
To my grief I'll naught concede I 
I, Hebe, will not stoop 
From my goddess height to weep, nor will droop 

For that I, 
Tripping, fell along the pavement of the sky, 
With the shatter 'd cup of Jove,* 
Who had ofl"er'd me his love,f 
Where huge Olympus high 
Enthrones himself, in calm god ecstasy I 

* I have given to Zeus the more modern Roman appella- 
tion Jove, because I think it better suited to the spirit of my 
poem than the Greek Zeoq, even though it may seem to some 
minds to create a confusion of mythological ideas. 

f This allusion to an amour between Zeus and Hebe may 
be thought fantastic and monstrous, on account of the near 
relationship of the goddess of youth and beauty to the father 
of the gods, it being recorded in mythology that she was the 
daughter of Zeus and Hera. Without, however, taking into 
account the thousand excesses of Zeus, my fancy may be 
deemed pardonable, simply because it is a fancy, and any 
one who chooses may, by the aid of a little imagination, ignore 
the idea of any relationship existing between the separate 
idealisms of the poem. 

2 (H) 



18 HEBE AND GANYMEDE. 

I know that Hera wept 
While the Thunderer me kept 
At his side, 
And that she doth now rejoice, and deride 
At my fall : 
I'll not fall into tears 

As she, jealous queen ! 
For my mishap appears 
A god-send to have been ! 

Gave me all 
All my joy, love, in thee ; 
Ganymede I see ! 
Whom the gods gave to me in the place 

Of Jove's smile, 
His awful, beneficent grace ! 

Pour the wine, love, swift pour ! 

In the nectar depths work 
Strange lethargies — lurk 

There to enervate Jove 

In his wild deeds of love ; — 
So be quick ! 

The Thunderer o'erpower, 
And we'll take our sweet stolen sleep, 

Where the pale naiads weep 

By the calm blue sea's shore ! 

In the lilies and leaves 

Full of balmy reprieves 
For my grief ! 
And our strong love shall work evermore 

To my soul, full relief. 

Ah he falls ! 

And half calls, 
Overcome by the wine, 
For me — who am thine ! 



HEBE AND GANYMEDE. 19 

Clasp me, Ganymede, close, while I twine 
My arms round tby waist ! 
So — bear me in haste 
Forth — out in thy own — 
And this odious throne 
Leave for aye ! 

Ah ! sparkle they out 
All the worlds here about 
The Mount's brow ? 
It is late, as we swiftly pass 
O'er the bright, elastic grass ! 
Ganymede, bear me up — 
For me, too, the wine cup 
Overcomes ! 
Oh, to lie 
Under the sky, 
All alone in thy arms ! 

Ah, let not Jove wake. 
Our grand purpose to shake ; 
If he comes in his might. 
Should hurl at us, and strike, 
Then, naught would to us be 
Our strong immortality ; 
But a curse in our woe — 
Oh, embrace me not so 
Ganymede, in thy pain I 
I shall stifle again, — 
As once in the fumes of Jove's wine I 

So — the cool, silent sea ! 
My strong passion, and thee ! 

Ah, couch down 

In the flowers. 

Lay me prone 

'Mid the showers 



) MORNING SONG. 

Of the clew to refresh, — which shall soothe 
my distress, — 
And thy triumphant tenderness ! 
So, gods, would I lie. 
Drinking draughts of joy and love eternally. 
3Iaij 4, 1857. 



MORNING SONG. 



How blushes forth the summer dawn ! 

What rosy radiance breaks the dusk I 
The spirits of the night are gone ; 

And lily's scent, and sweetbrier's musk 
Go up to kiss departing feet 

Of who have pour'd the nectar 'd dew 
From misty chalices, and sweet 

Caresses given the whole night through ; 
Making its pensive moments fleet : 
Spirits of shade, oh gratefully 
The flowers repay your ministry I 

Sun rays make golden fruit appear 

'Mid summer foliage massy glooms : 
The laborer sings his song of cheer 

Toil bent through clover-field's perfumes ; 
The dew broad glistens in the trees : 

The climbing cypress' scarlet stars 
Keach passionately, in the breeze, 

Toward where the mild clematis draws 
Closer her snow, — and conscious sees 
Her bolder love, flush'd with desire, 
Toward her bright pureness still aspire. 



THE PAST AND PRESENT. 21 

The cattle's yearning low is beard : 

And many a glad, expectant cry 
Sounds from the grove ; each waking bird 

His idyl utters joyfully. 
The golden stooks a field rejoice 

In drooping brilliance of their plumes, 
Long, silken, beamy : hark ! the voice 

Of reaper and of maiden comes 
From thence : each lad near his sweet choice : 
Ere twilight glooms dispersed, they hied 
To see the sheaves with flowers were tied. 

August, 1858. 



THE PAST AND PRESENT. 

A REVERIE. 

Again that past my eyes would greet ! 
The godlike friend they syne did meet ;- 
The sparkling rime beneath his feet : 

Where stood he with erected head, 
November heavens above him spread, 
The evening planet overhead : 

With folded arms and steadfast gaze, 

Outlook'd he far into the maze 

Of coming times, his soul could raise 

Out of their distance for his view : 
What he had done — what he should do- 
The past and future fancy drew. 
2* 



THE PAST AND PRESENT. 

I look upon his steadfast brow : 

Like smooth-hewn marble it doth glow 

In whiteness, yet the soul doth show. 

The conscious mind sat there enthroned 
As though its power creation own'd, 
And he a sovereign height had found. 

That day is past — where is he now, 
He of calm mien, and lordly brow ? 
Him a remorseless fate doth bow. 

The might of intellect was naught 
To gain the lofty ends he sought ; 
And now misjudged, he wanders out 

To gain his bread by trivial means : 
That soul no more o'er thousands reigns : 
To paint his wrongs his tongue disdains. 

Who were his slaves awhile ago. 
Have now forsook him, since he's low, 
And circumstance no more doth bow 

To frame his ends — but rather he 
Submits with what grace he haply 
May have left of prosperity 

To its rude claims. When high raised, he 
Look'd out upon the man he'd be, — 
His soul borne up triumphantly, 

Did then that soul his doom foretell ? 
And ring within the warning knell 
That made such calmness in him dwell ? 



THE PAST AND PRESENT. 23 

Strange calmness — then I thought it strange, 
And wonder'd why his soul would range, 
Restless, though fix'd — and long'd for change. 

What wrong philosophy did wreck 
That soul that nothing vile could check, 
That but of loftiest things would reck ? 

Perhaps a seraph slow borne down. 
Told him the arch-sin was his own 
That tempted Satan to dethrone 

The power above him, and install 
Himself the monarch over all : 
I think ambition made him fall.* 

Yet 'twas a godlike sin, — and he 
Was to his ancient self most true 
Herein — I wonder if 't may be 

That this is the eternal stake ; — 
That if we fall, our fall partake 
In grandeur, of what we forsake ? 

Yes, this is nature's, reason's law : 
We still must be, anear or far. 
At peace with God or waging war. 



* "^ -K- '<l see not but they may think it glorious, and 
conceive that all are paltry to them, and that they are the 
great and mighty ones of creation. For what verily is all this 
self-adulation and dreaming of vanity, but another torturing 
demon which exalts itself over the glorious parts of human 
nature, and turns them into degradation, -s^- it -jt -x- * 
Had Satan not been vain-glorious, he might still have stood." 
[See Edward Erving's Orations of Judgment to Come, Part VII.) 



24 THE PAST AND PRESENT. 

The same in innate spirit might : 

And though ambition wreck'd him quite, 

His power is with him in his plight. 

I mourn he is at enmity 

With fate, that smiled so graciously 

Awhile ago, and fed his eye 

With such clear light : — his haughty mien 
A well-blent sweetness glow'd within ; 
Which fitted him while it did win. 

Well, — yet perhaps his adverse fate 
Will change its face, ere 't be too late, 
And keep his birth with ancient state ! 



Rejoice my soul ! I scarcely think 
God will crush out this living link 
That show'd so fine, nor let it sink 



To rust in darkness — but will use 
Its metal strong — from mouldy dews 
It hath contracted cleanse 't : — I muse 

With quietness upon the thought ; 
The theme an added grace has caught, 
Which always on my soul hath wrought. 

A calm repose it lendeth me 
To know with prophet certainty, 
That God doth let no good thing die ! 
3Iarch 16, 1857. 



RECOLLECTION. 25 



KECOLLECTION. 



What halcyon days that summer show'd I 
Days full of labor, and wise greed : 
What reaching out to fill soul's need, 

What broad revealings of a God I 

What intense life amid the trees I 
What splendors in the steady air I 
Or, if the west would not forbear, 

What joyous sweetness in her breeze ! 

What noble prospects from afar. 

Where heights on heights serenely tower — 
While clouds above them smile or lower — 

Beloved of ether, moon, and star I 

What miracles my sight descried, 

What tints transfigur'd in the flowers 1 
How long and passionate were the hours, 

Till, pale with rapture, the day died 1 

Alas I they're past — no more to be — 

Those morns of promise, — glowing noons,— 
Those broader, golden harvest moons, — 

Those nights for love's deep ecstasy I 

Yet still shall labor fruitful be, 
The soul yet larger stature own : 
Kind fate shall set thee on a throne. 

The throne of her Tranquillity. 

August, 1858. 



26 A PAGE FROM LIFE. 



A PAGE FROM LIFE. 



Meine Welt war mir zerbrochen, 
Wie von einem Wurm gestochen 
Welkte Herz und Bliithe mir ; 
Meines Lebens ganze Habe, 
Jeder Wunsch war mir im Grabe, 
Und zur Qual war icli noch liier. 

* -X- -X- -x- ^ 

Ward mir plotzlich, wie von oben, 
Weg des Grabes Stein gesclioben 
Und mein Inn'res aufgethan, 

A SHADOW fell upon my youth — 
Which would not anchor by the truth, 
But only look'd upon the ruth. 

A poisonous cloud ensphered it round : 
And swept its hopes were to the ground 
By bitter winds, of wailing sound. 

In darkness chill it long abode — 
That soul that erst God's glory show'd 
Forth so supreme, in happier mood. 

At length it meditated wrong, 
And ponder'd in its darkness long, 
With throes of anguish, deep and strong, 

Whether or not that "unknown bourn" 
Were not the best for souls forlorn. 
So toss'd with agony, and torn. 



NoVALIi 



A PAGE FROM LIFE. 2T 

Perhaps some river might be fix'd 
With kind oblivion featly mixt, — 
This state and the other lying 'twixt : 

Should it not court such wave, and be 
Plung'd thus into immensity — 
No more in sluggishness to see 

(A state induc'd by misery) 
The world revolve perpetually, 
Bringing no light nor good to be ? — 

And ending so, in endless sleep, — 
Devoid of dreams, its dark to keep, 
Still half apprised of half a sleep ; 

But quite annihilated, find 

No seed within of deathless mind. 

Or infinitude to souls assign'd ? — 

Or wisdom, men attribute to 

Him whom they teach our spirits grew 

From his own fullness, just to do 

His perfect will, or disobey 

The laws he gave to show the way 

Our souls should walk, — erect in day ? 

No answer could my soul /)btain : 
Revolved again, and yet again. 
The question was in hopeless pain. 

The truth ignored, I could not see 
With clearness ; or sufficiently 
To aught inform my misery. 



A PAGE FROM LIFE, 

In my remoteness sad I mused ; 

And having comfort quite refused, 

Sat sphinx-like, and could not be roused. 

So brooded fixedly my soul 
Until it heard a murmur roll 
Of faintest music, to console. 

It seem'd to rise from far away ; — 
And lure my spirit forth to stray 
Where it would lead harmoniously. 

But no I my soul refused to heed : 
The music ceased not to plead, — 
Though I would nothing yet concede. 

At length the sweet tones drew more near, 

And murmur'd softly in my ear 

The tenderest hymnings, fine and clear. 

I turn'd to question them, and say 

"What strange phenomena are ye ?" 

But fear'd the ecstasy would flee. 

All suddenly I glanced up, 

As if to pluck — some god did stoop 

My gaze aloft, — nor quaflTd his cup 

Because of my amazement — when 
(Attend too — follow fleet my pen. 
As I rehearse the things I've seen ;) 

He glower'd above me gloriously 
To note the wondrous mystery 
That struck upon my dazed eye ! 



A PAGE FROM LIFE. 29 

A group of flowers that look'd like saints, 
With mystic, himinous depths, and tints, 
(Such the Archetypal flower-gem paints,) 

Like heaven's expanse, lit by moon's beam. 
Stood out erect, and seem'd to dim • 

The glory round wherein they swim ! 

A tenfold halo compass'd them. 
And back reflected from each gem, 
Crown'd each with separate diadem I 

While gazing dazzled on the show, 
A voice spoke sweetly, soft, and low, 
Amid the music, — through its flow : 

" Look at them, through the gloom and teen 
That's held you, acting as a screen. 
From all the wondrous time that's been : — 

From the great Present's tenderness. 

That seeks to energize distress, — 

And blow God's breath through all the stress 

Of stern experience' angry roar — 
So thou'lt land safely on the shore 
Thou thought'st to reach, now, nevermore. 

Look through, — out of this fiendish dream — 

This lethargy of hell — where gleam 

In hues of heaven, the flowers supreme." 

I look'd indeed : — and there they stood. 
Each cloth'd in heavenly flowerhood : — 
And then 'twas that my mazed mood 
3 



30 A PAGE FROM LIFE. 

First recognized in each of them 
A sweet, familiar, cherish'd gem, 
Beloved of my childhood : — deem 

Ye that I could forbear a tear, 

To see such ministers anear, 

My spirit's fainting state to cheer ? 

Memory acknowledg'd each of them 
A former friend ; — each radiant gem 
That shone upon its dewy stem, 

I'd loved in years whose sacred dust, 

I'd ne'er thought these worn feet to thrust, 

These wandering feet within, but must 

At sight of such strange messengers : 
Who woo'd not as the worldling does, 
But as an angel ministers. 

A breath from Paradise did pass 

Full o'er them, and to my embrace 

They sway'd them soft, with stirring grace. 

Such animates the Loving One 

That gods look down from heights upon, 

And smile beneficently on ! 

The vision melted all my soul. 
Which did in soothing deluge roll, 
Of tears, its griefs, without control. 

Until with strong up-mounting wings, 
My new-born spirit sweetly springs 
To greet the dawn of better things ! 



THE HARVEST VISION. 31 

So, bath'd and purified in tears, 
Brought forth by memories of the years 
When life was pure, — my spirit wears 

Its olden guise with added grace : 
Where Faith mature doth hold a place, 
And Earnestness you plain may trace : 

They saved my spirit from despair : 
And woo'd me to the height from where 
I look adown — sighing now ne'er. 
April 29, 1857. 



THE HARVEST VISION. 

O'er my soul, sweet, sweet 
Comes a picture gliding— 
A fragrant field where mowers reap ; — 
Gleaneth goldenly the wheat ! 
Shining grain doth busy keep 
Sickles that ring 
When the hone they fling 

Across their sheen I 

To cut the proud grain, 

Which utters no shriek of pain : — 

And the master riding 
Softly o'er the rustling leaves, 
Where are gather'd together the gleaming sheaves 

(In a field near by,) 
Which stand clear 'neath the early morning sky, 
And are crown'd in their state with the blue corn- 
flower. 



32 THE HARVEST VISION. 

Which the mowers bound on 
In the rosy dawn 
As the stars were fading, and night's pale gloom 
Yielding to day ; 
Which broke out in beams 
As the flowers they lay 
Round the golden sheaves, — and bath'd them in 
streams 
Of delicate amber light, 
Which abolish'd the lingering dusk of night ! 

Golden-green, or impurpled the land 

Stretcheth away afar ; 
'Neath the^broad sunshine — and the ruddy band 
Of husbandmen ply many a busy hand ; 
Or young lassies labor in groups in the barley ; 
There one in her radiant gleaming hair doth stand, 
Enchanting in graces that clothe her so fairly I 
On the milk of lilies. 
And blood of roses, 
She seems to have fed I 
Ah ! the sunshine has led 
Her to seek a spot where the shade reposes ; 
Where yonder beach 
Shoots out stately arms, verdurous, which 
Her gentle desire would reach 1 

See her hands white as lilies 

Among shining ears ! 
Softly, deftly, plies the maiden ; 

Glowing piles she rears 
In the sunlight, — and the harvest 

Grows beneath her hand ! 
Fair as Eve ere she left Eden, 

Doth the matchless creature stand ! 



A PROBLEM. 33 

Heaven did surely send this maiden ! — 
In her form inclosing 
An angel's soul, 
To shine through in its soft reposing, 
And make less blessed ones who gaze upon her whole I 
, 1^57. 



A PROBLEM. 



By woe (he soul to daring action swells, 
By woe in plaintless patience it excells. 

Savage. — The Wanderer. 
In the reproof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men. — 

Troilus and Cressida, Act I., Scene 3. 

'Tis strange how often misery gives birth 
To finest products of the intellect ! 
No Rassalas ours, if Johnson had not been 
Bowed 'neath the grinding heel of poverty ; 
He always said he wrote because he must, 
And to gain bread — a mere necessity, — 
And so it prov'd — his pension slack'd his pen : 
No Defensio ours, if Milton had not been 
Beset by foes political, and fir'd 
To wage war with his pen with potency ; 
And thus produc'd a work whose elements 
Shall outlast, by long ages, all that strife 
Of transient nature which gave birth to it ; 
Poor, evil persecution ! but the means 
Of raising such a structure to the world ! 
Had Homer not been blind, no singer he 
"Would have been haply, of the deeds of men — 
Lone, wandering minstrel, made by lack of sight ; 
3* 



34 TO MY SISTER. 

His soul apart in grand ideals mov'd, 
And potent memories of the earlier days, 
For we have no good reason to suppose 
This poet wrote himself his epic down 
I' the Greek it stands in — though true, taken down 
It had not been, if Homer had not sung ; 
No soul but Homer's was there to create 
An epic like it — so he sang his song 
Heroic, — wandering, to chance listeners ; 
Who it preserv'd most probably; if we 
May build hypotheses upon a myth, 
For some assert Troy's fall is mythical ; 
Though the grand poem's soul unquestion'd stands : 
No Yicar, ours, of Wakefield, if the man 
With his clear poet's soul, had not been forc'd 
To pawn his tale to keep a roof above 
His ill-us'd head. Thus fares it with the great I 
And in compulsory works their recompense 
To the world for such misuse ; which prompted them 
To assert their claims in native majesty 
And godlike power — that after-ages still 
Might view their works in humbleness, and learn 
They were no fools, though persecuted as 
The vilest are — but here I curb my pen. 
March, 1857. 



TO MY SISTER 



All day long been conning Greek ; 
Growing weary as day closes ; 

As on strain of music free. 

Plenitude of harmony, 
On your thought my soul reposes ! 



TO MY SISTER. 35 

Sweetest sister, shall my toils 

In their high result ye yet make 

(When my fame's grown large, name great, — 
End come of my Work and Wait,) 

Ever prouder for my sad sake ? 

Divine prophecy ! — 'twould be crown 
Of my future — more far than all ! 

If to martyrdom befall 

Such return — well worth to fall, 
Gaining from thee that we love call I 

Thou dost in a mystic calm. 

Such as cherubs know, abide in I 
I would enter it within — 
Make thy soul my nature's twin — 

All-possess whom I confide in ! 

Often when my poet senses 

Build their tuneful mystery, 

As the wind o'er vibrant harp-strings, 
Rush I toward thee on swift soul-wings 

Drawn by daamon potency ! 

Blessed thou art, serene, high rais'd ; 
Heaven of thine no storms betide in, 

Lake star-lit on mountain's height — 

I would find such haven to-night, 
For my wearied soul to ride in I 

Thou dost love me ! wilt rejoice 
O'er the dear one? take delight in 

Men's loud praise — heart-tributes sent 

To me in my banishment, — 
Echo soul-deep plaudits I win ? 



6 / TO EVENING PRIMROSES. 

Worn or fired I've turn'cl to thee — 

In my reveries, joys, aspirings ; 

When my name consorts with fame, 
It shall still glow near thy flame : 

I expire while thy soul yet sings. — 

For thou'lt shame the warmest world-praise 
By thine own response — I, dying. 

Shall behold thy face lit by 

All thy nature's harmony ! 
While thou dost rejoice — I be free ! 

Noveviber, 1857. 



TO EVENING PRIMROSES. 

Blow, blossoms, blow ! 
Expand your paly gold :* 
The sun is low ! 
Earth's softest dew 
And sweetest silence 
Lovingly intense 
Solace you ! 
You who the sunbeams never knew, 
You who the stars do view : 

■^ Some two months after this poem was written, I met ac- 
cidentally, and for the first time, with Bernard Barton's verses, 
"To an Evening Primrose," in which he applies the expres- 
sion "paly gold" to this flower; but as it is not an uncom- 
mon one, and is so peculiarly descriptive of the appearance of 
these blossoms, and finally, as this is the only coincidence in 
tlie two poems, (they being altogether dissimilar in spirit,) I 
have retained the expression which was original in its appli- 
cation, in both conceptions. S. R. 



TO EVENING PRIMROSES. Si 

You whose charms only twilight may behold 

By her mild ray ; 
Or thoughtful gaze astray 

From world's highway, 
And only Night in ecstasy enfold ! 

In childhood's hour, 
Ere yet the poet's power 
Self-own'd, had spoil'd with consciousness the bliss, — 
O'er yout delicious hues 

And fragrancy 

I rapt would muse : 
My breath would hush its play 

As sunset died, 
And your pale, regal pride 
Burst forth in sympathy with night's array ! 

Then I, with joy elate, 
Saw through so tender-hued 
Your beamy purity, 
And reticent your mood — 
Touch'd with divinity 
And tremulous, — yet glow'd it not less passionate ! 

Ah, those summer nights — 
When the broad heavens were cloth'd in halcyon state ! 
When I, too careless to be passionate. 

Too eager to be sad, 
Hung o'er ye, flowers, and knew your beauty strange I 

And recognized a fate. 
Which to interpret, vainly I essay'd, — 
Round which broad wonder, ever foil'd, play'd. 
As still I sought to solve the mystery 
Your petal'd presence offered to me : 
Thinking, how little, that the flowers rehearse 
The fateful burden of the universe ! 



38 THE FIRST GRIEF. 

Where the most rapturous strains 
Hold hidden grief-refrains, 
And minors low 
Pierce deep the current of life's solemn, yearning flow. 

E'en yet to me ye minister delight ! 
And as I wander in the new-ris'n night 
Through this large garden, — silent memory 
Makes your sweet sight, 
Seen by starlight. 
Grateful to me : 
Your peerless purity, 
Greeting my manhood's eyes, 
I bless, and as ye rise, 
Blooming in dark, 
Like inspiration on the gloom of Time, — 
Your starry guise 
I thankful mark, 
And your divineness praise in rhyme : 
And had I power, would give to ye, 
Sweet flowers, immortality ! 

September 25, 1858. 



THE FIRST GRIEF 

Of a youngling straight and slender, 
Saddest scene doth memory render ; 

When I stood 

(Infanthood 
Scarcely fallen off) to see 
My dead father solemnly 

Lying cold, 

Stately roU'd 



THE FIRST GRIEF. 39 

In the cloak he used to wear 
When he smiled so high and fair I 

Gazed I sadly on that form, 

Cold, and white — calm did deform — 

Straight and still 

There — until - 
Sighing lone, I question'd it 
Whether it was right or fit, 

That my father 

Would not gather 
Me into his arms, though I 
Stood and wept there silently ? 

Long my questioning remain'd 
Heeded not — but echo gain'd 

In reply ; 

While that I, 
Sadly lying near him, moan'd 
That my father had enthroned 

On his breast 

That chill rest 
'Stead of me his daughterling : 
Still he spoke not anything. 

Forth at last I hopeless wander'd. 
Musing on the moments squander'd 

At his side. 

Who'd deride 
Only, — by the silence kept ; 
Answering not — ''perhaps he slept;" 

I thought, "so 

Back I'll go :" 
Ere long I had there return'd, 
There I sat and inly mourn'd. 



40 THE PARTED LOVERS. 

What a placid, silent sleep ! 
All his senses it doth steep ; — 

Not a breath — 

"Is this death? 
Did they tell me so erewhile 
Sorrowing — without a smile ? 

Not a streak 

Paints his cheek ! 
Fix'd, majestic, pale and cold. 
Death it is doth him enfold !" 

So an anguish whelm'd me o'er. 
Big, and strong, and surging sore. 

With wild din 

Me within — 
Would he never speak to me. 
Mount me gently on his knee, 

Nor beguile 

With his smile 
Any hours for evermore ? 
Grave and earnest, — he that wore 

Such a grace 

In his face 1 
God ! 'twas my first agony — 
No such other let me see. 
May 4, 1857. 



THE PARTED LOYEES. 

' Put off thy sadness, little lass. 
And taste the vivid life of June ! 
Her gracious reign is over soon. 
The golden days like meteors pass 



THE PARTED LOVERS. 41 

" In swift succession. Rise, and set 

Thy feet in flowers; no longer grieve — 
Thy sorrow-darken'd aspect leave, 
And make her spirit thine own yet !" 

\_3Iaiden, standing at a ivindoiv, replies as in a reverie.'] 

'' I see the summer sun shine broad 
O'er fields traversed by busy plows : 
To Nature's peace my spirit bows, 
My soul doth own the smile of God ! 

" Nature Him speaks ; yet I would see 
Another, human presence there ! — 
Him they call dead — but who is fair ; 
And sometimes yet doth speak to me ! 

" Once when I left him in his life, 
To visit other hills than these. 
To read his poems 'neath new trees, 
His soul with thoughts of me was rife. 

*' He cried to me in words like these : — 
I have them written in my heart. 
As well as those the paper brought 
From his dear hand my bosom bears : — 

" ' Return, my love, sighs fill the hours ! 
On grassy slopes I round me see — 
Grateful shade-blotches rescuing me 
From heat — ^the happy loves of flowers : 



II I 



Oh, Rose, sweet nature shows me thee ! 
The azure hills that bound my view. 
The netted vapor on the blue, 
Recall thy sweeter looks to me !' 
4 



42 SONG. 

" So sang my poet, and I came. 

Now death has taken him away — 
Yet I behold him in the day, 
And all night's silence holds his name. 

" My God, this nature Thee declares, 
Let it more clearly show me him ! 
I know he is no angel dim — 
No glory faint his forehead wears ! 

" I know him here I shall not see — 
That he's a spirit strong in heaven ; 
But be his presence to me given, 
And let his soul discourse to me ! 

" More grandly I would him discern, 
In all around, in air, and earth ; 
I think there is of power no dearth^ 
Nor pity in thee, God ! — I mourn — 

"Would see him visibly. Oh, show 
In all thy beauty, him, that I 
May recognize him 'yond the sky ; 
Oh, let me know him ere I go !" 

June, 1858. 



SONG. 

Patter, patter against the pane, 
Thou slow-falling, pearly, April rain ! 

Each grass spire 

Spring green and higher ; 
For with gentle force falls tlie April rain. 
And the sweet, sweet spring has come again I 



SPRING AND THE POET. 43 

The busy old mill 

That so long has been still — 

In winter's frost wrapp'cl, 
Now works with faint hum borne over the plain : 

The near streamlet which napp'd 
In chill quiet, now courses in freedom again, 
Unchain'd by the kindly, slow-dropp'd spring rain I 

Kun, Chanticleer, in thy bright-plum'd gear — 
Take shelter to save the feathers you wear 

From dullness or stain 

In the April rain ! 
The cattle are lowing far down in the rain, 
And the sweet, sweet spring has come again ! 

Let man's spirit rejoice 

At the season's voice ; 

Let the soft spring rain 
Abolish Doubt's anxious reign, — 

Dissolve his old pain : 
Let his soul sing in fullness of joy again, 
At the sweet, soothing sound of the April rain ! 
April, 1857. 



SPRING AND THE POET. 

The young spring loved a poet, and she said, 
"Come, gifted one, and let me crown thy head 
With the first flowerets of the year, — I spread 

" O'er the fair bosom of thy mother earth ; 
Come thou, whose soul of sweet dreams hath no 

dearth. 
And thou shalt be my love ; and so give birth 



44 APRIL. 

" To finer poems, (which my charms suggest :) 
Among the much-be-prais'd ones they'll be best : 
See how my budding breasts split my bright vest ! 

" And blush not ! thou shalt be my love, I say ! 
Thou may'st thy head upon my soft lap lay, 
And dally with my beauties all the day ! 

" Come, poet, I will deck thee — I will set 
Upon thy brow the crimson rose dew-wet, 
And purple languor of the violet ! 

" With leaves inwoven of the ivy vine, 
Its supreme whiteness (with the eglantine, 
For sweetness join 'd,) I thus will bind and twine !" 

October 2, 1858. 



APEIL. 

All nature wears a halcyon mien — 
The fresh spring smells are in the air ;- 

The sky's sweet sapphire shows serene, 
Above my spirit's strong despair I 

Spirits of sunbeams, scents, and shades. 
Wing dark and bright this April day,- 

Which seems to have its sweetest moods 
Reflected from the coming May ! 

Rouse thee, my soul, shake off thy gloom. 
Step out into glad nature's round ! — 

Thy human sympathies bring home 
To her — w^hat's lost in her is found. 
March 13, 1858. 



GOD DECLARED IN NATURE. 45 



GOT) DECLARED IN NATURE. 

I. 

The fool indeed it is who no God sees ; 

Earth shows Him in her every miracle — 

Immutest, greatest works of Him doth tell, 
In clear, sweet, universal harmonies ! 
Who gave their emerald tint to grass and leaf, 

Its yearning azure to the steadfast heaven, 
Its riant, golden aspect to the sheaf, 

And buds their rubies where calyx is riven ? 

II. 

Who made this globe revolve in light and shade, 
Spread a sky dome abroad so vast and fair, 
Gave its calm splendors to the summer air, 

And mountains with their feet in ocean stay'd ? 

Who gave the violet its passionate dye. 

Who dropp'd its odors in the bursting rose, 

Pois'd clouds, that rainbows might bestride the sky, 
Gave the far hills their Beulah-Iike repose ? 

TIL 

This spirit all-pervading, who but God ? 

Who all informs this vastncss with His breath ; 

What is this nature ? what is life ? what death ? 
But His divineness shown by Contrasts broad ? 
August 1, 1858. 



4* 



"Many infallible grounds of wisdom ■5«- * * lie dark 
before the imagination and judging power, if they be not illu- 
minated or figured forth by the speaking picture of poesy." 
•X- * * -sf -;v ■;<- -H- * 

"And a man need go no further than to Plato himself, * 
* * who in his dialogue called Ion, giveth rightly divine 
commendation unto poetry." 

Sir Philip Sidney's Defence of Poesy. 

"When Nature's hand, in endless iteration, 

The thread across the whizzing spindle flings, 
When the complex, monotonous creation 

Jangles with all its million strings : 
Who, then, the long, dull series animating, 

Breaks into rythmic march the soulless round ? 
And to the law of All such Member consecrating, 

Bids one majestic harmony resound ? 
Who bids the tempest rage with passion's power ? 

The earnest soul with evening redness glow? 
Who scatters vernal bud and summer flower 

Along the path where loved ones go ? 
Who weaves each green leaf in the wind that trembles. 

To form the wreath that merit's brow shall crown ? 
Who makes Olympus fast? the gods assembles? 

The power of manhood in the Poet shown ?" 

Goethe's Faust; Brook's Translation. 

(4G) 



THE poet's soliloquy. 4t 



THE POET'S SOLILOQUY. 

Shall me, whom God such powers did give, 

Despair then hold in thrall ? 
Who had I thousand lives to live, 

Could yet employ them all 

In study of the master minds. 

In travel, yearning sage. 
In animated toil which finds 

New object for its rage 

In every work of God's (designs 

That all my mind engage,) 
In lofty thought at Nature's shrines 

Through endless pilgrimage ? 

"Great God !" I can with Werter say, 

" Shall I whose faculties 
Wider than most, — might mankind sway, 

In gloom my being freeze ?" 

Must sad despondency be mine, — 
Mine, who was made supreme ? 

While duller men decry my rhyme — 
Are blind to genius' beam? 

Must I disown the cheerful sun, 

The world me outrage too — 
Crying, "this one's example shun, 

He naught of good shall do I" 



48 A MODERN CLEOPATRA. 

Ah, Powers who orb my being round, 

Both rapture and lament 
Are heard throughout the strain ye sound 

Athwart my banishment ! 

I read these in your luminous eyes — 

Your demon forms to me 
Embody strangest influences 

Unrest, calm, potency I 

You are the beings who mould life — 

Who toss the wearied soul 
From blandest rest to sternest strife — 

Through bliss and woe me roll ! 

I yet shall triumph — false might fall — 

Poetic powers reign ! 
Ah, cold, vain world, ye are not all, — 

Though ye have made my pain ! 

October 3, 1858. 



A MODERN CLEOPATRA. 

A KINGLY man men call him : he is mine ! 

My soul doth crown him royally with fire : 
I'll bend him to my will — then say, " I'm thine !" 

Pit is he for my wild untamed desire. 

Yes, I shall conquer ; steadfast though he be — 
The arrows of my passion pierce his calm I 

His front shall lose its hauteur bow'd to me — 
He shall for kiss of mine resign the palm. 



A MODERN CLEOPATRA. 49 

My eyes shall lighten on him, — standing there 
Strong and unconscious now : elected he 

To fill my nature's deep abysses — where 

The dearth has long look'd for him yearningly. 

High and serene he smiles — a column cold, 
Lit by the sun : who'd think the being there 

Shall lie in my embraces — in the fold 

Of arms swept now by midnight of my hair? 

Hush heart ! be quiet th\)u imperious will ! 

Let my blood's currents less tumultuous flow — 
Compass with subtle care thy purpose : still 

Wiles subvert wisdom as of old I and know 

Thou'lt stand in need of thy imperial power. 
Oh soul, to attract, secure such prize as this I 

Win by proud coolness ; and repress thy dower 
Of fiery might — though fainting for his kiss : — 

'Till thy pale, peerless rage has triumph'd : then 
Unloose the gyves self-bound about thy heart — 

Awe by force while thou fascinat'st, lest when 
Naught but thy passion's seen, undone, he dare de- 
part I 

December, 1858. 



50 TO MY BIRD ESCAPED. 



TO MY BIRD ESCAPED. 

''Epaoiur^ -ihta, 

Tzuiscq T£ xat (I'sy.dXsL' ; 
riq el ; ri (Tot /liXsi di • 

ravDv edio /xh 6i/?rov, 
^acpapTzdaaffa ^ecpaJv 
\4>ay.pi<»^T<)(; auzuu: 
Tztal)^ <5' i/i(H dtdcofft 
ruv ul'^ov ov T^po-bzi, 

Anacreon's Ode to a Dove. 

An, come back, come back, 
Beautiful one, who wert my solace in 
Drear hours ! what trailing beams shiver thine azure 
track ? 

Thine unloos'cl wings 
Seem down-weigh'cl by some fragrance, or despair — 

Oh, foreshadowiugs 
Of harm to thee, and lonely grief to me, 

Thy wild flight brings ! 

Thou art no carrier-dove, chance seen, of whom I may 
Say, ''whence com'st thou ?" for thou dost wing away 
From me who was protector, lover too, 
Of thy soft life ! aimless amid the blue 

Thou coursest. Ah, come back, come back, 
Retrace thy daring track ! 



TO MY BIRD ESCAPED. 51 

Dost thou disdain thy poet's loving hand, 
His tender care, and his admiring eye, — 
That thus thou dost rejoice from him to fly? — 
Exploring, as thy rapturous wings expand — 
Transfigur'd in the sunlight solemnly — 

That upper land 
Of rose and gold, violet and silver cloud 

Toward which thy pinions wend ? 

Though I have fed thee — brought to thee fresh leaves 
Crisp with the dew, and shared with thee my bread 
Of whitest wheat ; and the sweet crystal grains 
Thou loved'st ; wilt thou leave me ? Who bereaves 
My heart? Not thou, priz'd so, and watch'd and fed 
From mine own hand ; thou dost not cause these pains. 

So — wilt thou not return, 

Although I mourn ? 
Thy bright wings cleaving, instant poising, gone I 

And thou hast disappeared ! 
And night has come : and I forlorn 
Have look'd my last upon thy glancing eye 

And golden neck uprear'd. 

And crest ; and plumed wings 
Unfit for flight ambitious 'mid the starry things. 
, 1858. 



52 NIGHT AND SONG. 



NIGHT AND SONG. 

Ring out, oh, soul-harp, silent long — 
Ring out a paeon sweet and strong ! 
Midnight repose broods grandly o'er 
The sleeping grove and moonlit tower : 
Speak to the heavenly sisters nine, — 
And they'll descend to weave with thine 
Their heaven-tun'd strains ; and join'd will be 
Divine and earthly symphony ! 

Lo, spirits swift are on the wing — 
And bending low, their wings they fling 
Across my lyre, and wake its tones ! 
Through the still air a clang resounds ! 
And all the power that long hath lain 
There hidden, wakes at th' touch again ! 
Oh, what a full, triumphant song 
Wakes Pan his native woods among ! 
As, starting at the unusual sound, 
He rises — seeks its source around ; 
And "the yellow-skirted fays, 
Leaving their moon-love maze," 
Fly toward the strong celestial strains ; 
Panting to find the sounds that wak'd such heavenly 
pains ! 

Night bends her awful brows to hear ; 

While silence' pulses far and near 

Proclaimeth the creation round, 

Mov'd at the grand and wondrous sound ! 

At length it droppeth into night, — 

We'll hear no more such heavenly tunings dight, 



RELIGIOUS ELEMENT ACTIVE IN ALL AGES. 53 

With import far too wonderful for those 
Who understand not night's speech, nor the throes 
Of such divine brain-births, — which only they 
Who can call poesy their own, with full truth, may. 
December, 1856. 



RELIGIOUS ELEMENT ACTIVE IN ALL AGES. 



"Reverence, the divinest in man." 

Carlyle, Sartor Resarius. 

"Which are indeed naught else 
But the protractive trials of great .Jove, 
To find persistive constancy in men." 

Troilus and Cressida, Act I., Scene 3. 



'Mid the rolling of Olympian thunders 
Throned serenely were the gods of old. 

Where the awful vision the gloom sunders 
Men adoring gaze, meek, rapt and bold. 

Grand imaginings which gave the ancients 
Forms to worship, — too our souls illume ; 

L^rge not now to gaze toward heaven with patience, 
Show us angels ere we pass the tomb. 

Deity yet lends to nature glory, 

A divine Presence we discern ; 
For the early sages Shiloh's story 

Lived not like us late enough to learn. 
5 



54 RELIGIOUS ELEMENT ACTIVE IN ALL AGES. 

When amid the strife of life we languish 
And its burdens make our sjDirits pine, 

"We remember joy succeeds to anguish, 
One doth prove the other ; twins divine. 

Still the gods are greater than their shadows. 
We will whisper to our souls to hope 

As when harmonies more glad rose ; 

With blind Fate undaunted bravely cope. 

His expectant and immortal nature 

(Zeus, Christ beholdiug) man still wears ; 

Through the old time and the new the creature 
Is unchanged ; — celestial yearnings bears. 



Naught unmakes him : reverent, aspiring 
Is his mein whatever creed he view ; 

Purer virtue than he sees desiring 
Loftier beino; : nobler deeds to do. 



'O 1 



Pain oft racks him ; but his front he raiseth 
And would e'en among the stars enthrone 

His humanity : in grief he praiseth 
Themes diviner than his life doth own. 

, 1858. 



SONGS. 65 



SONGS. 



Now in the spring of life, and nature too, 
Sweet Poesie with rapture tunes her lyre I 

Long silent, but re-echoing once again 

Its old-time heart-strains with its old-time fire. 

The birds are singing in the budding trees ; 

The wild flowers spring in every wooded dell ; 
The blossom'd wealth of spring is in the air, 

And bursting on the trees in tender swell. 

Come, oh, my soul, and form a pa3on for 
The season and thy vigorous estate ! 

Kejoice in this fair May, and that thy God 

Hath late inform'd thy life and made thee great ! 

Fear naught, oh soul, but labor on in love, 
Constant as in this nature's course ; and bring 

More noble fruits unto heaven's sacred shrine, 
From out the treasure of thy human spring I 
, 1856-57. 

IT. 

The slender grasses lift their spires of green, 

And cut the brooding air : 
The spring bends low o'er earth her azure wing, 

And trails her garments fair, 
Ethereal and shadowy, o'er the earth, 
That the most sweet and delicate scents give forth I 



I 



66 SONGS. 

Oh, we do greet thee, spring I thou herald of 

Long, tender, coyful days, — 
That shed'st upon our hearts the balm of love 

And mak'st me sing thy praise, 
Who many days have sigh'd to welcome thee, 
As the sweet messenger of joys to be ! 

What odorous mazes throb their gay young green 

In soft life of the air I 
The flowering-almond wreathes its wands serene 

With fragrant blooms, which bear 
A perfume so intoxicate with spice, 
That they our nostrils constantly entice. 

Soft I listen to the murmuring multitudes 

That throng the jocund air ; 
What bursts of melody make glad the woods — 

Yocal the atmosphere 1 
Nature rejoices, — thou, my soul, rejoice, 
And in harmonious accord with hers blend thy poetic 
voice ! 
March, 1857. 

III. 

The apple trees bend with their weight of blooms, 

Softly down, softly down. 
And the air is fill'd with sweet perfumes, 
While the sky expands with no cloud glooms, 

To cross its blue with a frown ! 

The tender grasses wave in the sun, 

At salute of the sweet spring breeze. 
And the brook doth in merry cadences run 
O'er pebbles, like pearls in their bed of dun, 
'Neath the shade of the willow trees ! 



MUSINGS. 51 

All nature doth glow in a perfect grace ! 

We could worship her as she doth stand 
Forth, transfigur'd in this her waking face, 
Wearing naught but of heaven the grand impress 

Where God's smile lit and rests to expand 

Into full-fledg'd ecstasy ere long, when 

The earth reels 'neath a load of flowers ; 

The gods shall send down gems in showers then, 

And a thousand roses its crown again, 

It shall make, this brave world of ours. 
May 4, 18-37. 



MUSINGS. 



I STAND in the ancient porch, honeysuckle wreathed, 
And see in the eastern dusk the full moon's broad 
gold; 

Then turning, at every step the vine's scents inbreath'd, 
In the conscious west I the star of love behold. 

The zenith shines pure of star gem, meteor glare, 
Or even the lively rose of the maiden west, — 

Still blushing in memory of sun's kiss, (she doth wear 
In form of the star,) left on her mild front ere his 
rest. 

Oh, who shall attain to calm that above us lies. 

Forever intact and grand in the heaven's heart ? 
None, none : for the men we on earth account most 
wise. 
Cannot cope with this nature's power, and cannot 
impart 

5* 



68 THE LOVERS. 

To their lives her inspired mood — as great ones would 
The ardent souls who hold with her communings 
high — 

Never yet their worshipful love's intensity could 
Pierce to the depths of her forceful serenity. 

Because it is God who informs her — who looketh 
through 
Her vastness. This peerless earth, so a sage has 
said, 
Is here "the garment we see Him by;" and who 
Shall dispute a Groethe ? Yes, Nature with God is 

wed. 
July, 25, 1858. 



\ 



THE LOYERS. 



I WANDER forth ; the dreary north doth face me as I 

go; 

I bend me low, but cannot so keep off the drifting 
snow ; 

The length of way before my feet doth damp my spi- 
rit's glow. 

My pace I check, but stronger fleck down mazy 

sweeps — my face 
Is gloom-veil'd — blind I grow and chill; — the wind 

doth roar apace : 
I have a weary way to go or ere I reach the place. 



THE LOVERS. 59 

But now fruition fills my heart — it thrills at what I'll 

meet 
When reach'd my goal ; — the mental picture urges on 

my feet ; 
Hasten ! oh, haste — she waits for you with look of 

welcome sweet : 



Her hair in sunny coils doth lie now swept against 

the pane — 
The thought of what awaiteth me doth drown the 

wind's refrain — 
I shall be happy soon, nor take this dreary way again. 



So, high aloof, my grandsire's roof — how fair it shows 

in storm I 
The massive, olden architecture cleaving through the 

gloom : 
And Alice — ah, her blushes cease in watching if I 

come I 



Truly, my sweet, my joy's complete ! — thou restest 

'gainst the pane* — 
Art gazing out — the matchless triumph in thy features 

plain. 
For thou hast caught a sight of him thou lovest unto 

pain ! 

Ah, meet'st me love ? Fair waiting dove, that kept- 

est watch in storm. 
To catch a sight through gathering night, of thy own 

lover's form — 
Thou did'st espy me quickly, sweet I sight's keen 

where heart is warm ! 



60 RECOMPENSE. 

I also thought of thee ; nor so, love, felt the storm : — 

I trace 
Thy past anxiety still in thy tender soul-lit face — 
But thou attaiu'd, ray spirit stands entranc'd in Love's 

sweet grace ! 
Winter, 1857-58. 



EECOMPENSE. 

" I, through whose soul the muses' strains aye thrill! 
Oh! I do feel the spell with which I'm tied; 

And though our annals fearful stories tell, 
How Savage languish'd, and how Otway died, 
Yet I must persevere, let what e'er will betide." 

KiRKE White. 

The poet is ever prophet, — 

This refrain both stern and glad, 

Speaketh truth of many poets, 
And the cruel use they've had. 

The meaning of our brother 

Is shadow'd forth so clear, 
We long to express in music 

(Musings born of our low cheer.) 

The twin thoughts which arose beside it, 

Mating themselves with this. 
Which recall them sweetly and sadly 

Out of the soul's abyss. 

And this thou did'st feel, oh, poet ! 

This thy prophet insight saw ; 
Thou knewest the seer unheeded. 

Thou knewest the world's hard law. 



RECOMPENSE. 61 

Thou sawest tliine inspirations, 

The fruits of thy gifted soul, 
Pass'd unseen and untasted of mortals. 

Though thou lived'st for them to toil. 

But when calmly his breath has departed, 
Time the spirit of mankind wakes 

To tenderest pity and love, as 
To sorrow for past mistakes. 

Years pass, and his spring-time has blossom'd ; 

And gloriously we behold 
All the leaves and buds of his genius, 

In perfect beauty unfold. 

Thus the Autumn of misconception 

Doth not forever last; 
But the poet's hopes are realiz'd 

When his century is past. 

And the sorrow that stung his senses 

And lent sad force to his song, 
Passes with life in haloes — 

Which enwrap his memory long. 

So light is born of the darkness, 

And good springs out of the ill, 
And ever Autumn is tending 

The blessed Spring to fulfill. 

And " world's cruelty" oft worketh 
E'en while genius suffers eclipse, 
A better apprehension 
Of the poet's apocalypse. 
July, 1858. 



ALCESTIS. — REFLECTIONS. 



ALCESTIS. 



To-day heroic nature shall behold 

Humanity heroic — waiteth she 

A soul's grand triumph hush'd and consciously — 
Calm expectation doth the earth enfold. 

The Old World sunshine watchful floods the scene — 
The blue waves of the tideless southern sea 
Flowing in long swells shoreward tranquilly, 

Lap Grecian shores, — enring her islands bland. 

Yivid unflickering trees stand o'er-arched by 
(The ripe figs falling with a gentle sound, 
Their golden fragrance shed upon the ground,) 

The purple splendors of the fixed sky. 

Oh, woman, now thine agony is laid ! 

Admetus shall not die, — but only thou ! 

Love's still and mighty strength doth gird thee 
now ; — 
Triumph thou wilt — and thy soul be display'd I 

August 4, 1858. 



REFLECTIONS. 



Each thought slow, sweet, like chime doth fall 
And seeming glad, doth glad me make ; 
My calm reflections rythms take 

Grows meditation lyrical I 



REFLECTIONS. 63 

How steady is the summer air 

With the weight of its splendors broad ! 
How calm the earth — how full of God — 

What massy glooms of foliage tower ! 

Each flower, and leaf, and placid stream, 

Each tranquil hill that glows afar. 
Each sunbeam, sky-glow, steady star, 
Each river lying in a dream. 

Gives birth to soulful melody 
Within me — tenderness and power 
Their smiles and raptures break in shower 

Of notes triumphant, ne'er to die ! 

Oh, who can fathom poet's soul, 

Its insight, inspiration broad ? 

None, none : — what passeth out from God 
Its harmonies toward him must roll : 

Its trials, yearnings, strife and bliss 

He reads like plainest writing show'd ; — 
Its minors, rapturous majors broad — 

Heaven's sympathy he knows is his. 

Demoniacal powers him sphere — 

Grand forms who watch his steady course — 
Who'd darken horror with their curse 

And lighten heaven when smiling clear ! 

They stern compel him, or they crown 
His toil with their grand gaze, when he 
Has won a place triumphantly 

Among the sons whom fame doth own ! 
August 22, 1858. 



64 TO N. — TO M. 

TO N. 

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

All gifts of human and divine 
Enring thy happy spirit : 

And may thine earthly pathway shine 
With smiles that saints inherit I 

5jC Jft 5]C 5jC 5jC 

Let thy young soul grasp the beauty 
All of good that life doth hold 

And transfigure it in duty 
Into blessings manifold. 
November f 1857. 



TO M. 

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 



Your nature's tender buds unclose 
Serenely — let them court the light ; 
(Nor know the chill and gloom of night) 

Where life broad, constant sunbeams throws 

To rouse them into blossoming ; 

Full-orb'd perfection may they win — 
Be ripen'd in a purpose twin — 
Earth's good heaven's gain foreshadowing ! 
November, 1857. 



THE SWISS peasant's LAMENT. 65 



THE SWISS PEASANT'S LAMENT.* 

A GLOOM doth circle me to-day — a dreary ring of 

gloom — 
Though nature smiles so strong and gay, she lately 

spoke my doom ; — 
This nature robb'd me of my child I — my time for rest 

shall come. 

My child, I cry, my boy, my Clare ! — with spirit-lighted 

face — 
The worms do nestle in thy hair, the sods o'erarch thy 

grace ; 
And yet I would, my boy, that I could that drear rest 

embrace ! 

How soft and strong doth pour the sun around me as 

I stand ! 
How sweep the hills in stretches long beneath the 

heavens bland ! 
The earth doth seem, this glad May-day, my praises 

to demand ! 

Thy mangled form was borne along ; I see thy features 

now ! 
Thy sunny hair that stream 'd the bier, thy lofty up- 

turn'd brow 
Fix'd in high calm of death, as when they dug thee 

from the snow ! 



* Over the grave of her son who was killed by a fragment 
from a falling glacier. 

6 



66 TO EVENING. 

Oh, why, thou azure beaming sky so fair, remorse- 
lessly 

Spread over us to show the heavens to which we are 
not nigh ? 

Thou mak'st me mourn, bright earth, and wish that 
dying I could die ! 

Alas, my strain is never heard ; my woe is echoless I 
Ceases its chant no tiny bird to mark my near distress, 
Nor any sunbeam flooding me takes any ray the less ! 

Alas, great Nature, dumb thou art, as if thou held'st 

me so ! 
Thou dost not feel my poignant smart, nor soften at 

my woe ; 
Nature is always mild and sweet, although she lays 

us low ! 
Winter of 1857-58. 



TO EVENING. 



Oh, tender seeming eve — still-eyed, serene, 

Clad in a dew-mist, breathing scents like prayers !- 

Not on thy grave, sweet front is sadness seen. 
Thy presence cross'd is by no adverse airs ! 

Thou com'st to bless us ! — Twilight is thy throne : 
The roar and jar of action now is laid : 

No noisy energies thy reign doth own. 

And the world's busy rush of work is stay'd. 



THE TRIO. 6t 

High, radiant clouds of softest shifting dyes 
Float in the zenith ; smell of fruit and musk 

Lurks 'mid the shrubs and trees. How fair the skies, — 
How sweet a rose beyond the beech's dusk ! 

Now is pale mist veiling the hillside's green ; 

Massy and dark the summer foliage shows : 
Though all the vale's a blot, tall groves are seen 

Set 'gainst the back-ground of the sunset rose ! 

The bird's faint twittering fills the evening air, 
As home they wing them to their leaf-hid nests, — 

Eager to cover tender younglings there 

With downy softness of their sheltering breasts. 

Now brighter hues are fading in the west ; 

Deep violet flushes only greet our eyes ; 
Though gravely calm and fair, warm glows thy vQst ; 

So kindling lights on lover's brows arise ! 
Auffust 4, 1858. 



THE TRIO. 



[_A poet, his u-i/e, and child, are seen in the shade of high rocks 
near the base of a ivooded mountain.'^ 

Poet. 

How fair is the prospect from where I stand I 
Look, love, do you mark its serenity ? 

Wife. 

No, Robert, indeed no; I do not see 

The beauty your voice so commends to me ; 

A dark band of shadow enrings us three I 



68 THE TRIO. 

Poet, (musingly.) 
We live in truth in a goodly land ! 

Wife. 
I see not the noble view you so praise. 

Poet. 

But, my Jane, look away from this prospect dun 
Afar, to that sweeter, more halcyon one. 
Where the golden-gemm'd meadow borders run, 
Where cows low gently and feed in the sun : 
On those plains I think I could spend my days ! 

You must see the prospect unfold, I think. 

For there, Jane, still further, behold the stream !- 
(Look, now, as I point, and follow its gleam :) 
Where the wild birds sail, and dip, and scream ; 
Where the cattle splash in the noon-day beam. 

Flinging a pearly shower upon its brink. 

Wife. 
So far ! Your keen vision I will not mock. 

Poet. 

And furthest of all where the meadows end. 
See how grandly the shade and sunshine blend 
On the mountain side, where the flocks extend 
In long lines — and there, see the shepherd wend 
Slowly beside them in scarlet plaid frock. 



OF AN EVENING. C9 



Wife. 



Ah, yes — you've reveaPd it all, love, to me ! 
Lift up the boy — let him take in the view ; 
His youth must be nourish'd with beauty too 
Of this Nature — 'tis thus you'd have me do 
At home, books, pictures, noble statues through- 
Let him muse on its rapt tranquillity. 

High lifted, he reaches your stature now ; 
So — place his tiny, pale slenderness high, 
That his father's grave, eagle-piercing eye 
Inherited, — clear may the scene descry 
While he inly broods o'er it tenderly 

There, while seated upon the rock's grim brow. 
October, 1858. 



OF AN EVENING. 



Then I did woo, from the clear page outspread, 
Sweet verse, by fading gleam of day, or read 
A bit of some old genial prose instead. 

'Till 'mid the evening's hush, bright Yenus' star 
Peeping through roseate clouds which could not mar 
Her steady shining, raised my thought to her. 

At last a thunderous rythm caught my ear, 
Just as I look'd to see her disappear 
Behind black branches of the beech — so, hear 

The song my heart sent forward to her sight, 
Which now show'd fairer in the coming night. 
While the sad south herself in storm bedight 1 
6* 



70 OP AN EVENING. 

Venus, who float'st in purple sea of sky, 
Beyond which golden shores of cloud do lie. 
Still glow divinely upon mortal eye — 
O, do not die ! 

The south wind breathes sinisterly this way, 
And round her dark front forked lightnings play ; 
Console us for the loss of the lov'd day ; 
And star, oh stay ! 

Let thy warm, mild, inspiring beam still show 
More glorious opposite Night's stormy brow 1 — 
Oh, to unpitying Fate, pray, do not bow 
And leave us now I 

Ah I vanish'd ! One ray streaming up again ! 
Gone ! — clouds pursue her swift, Avhile prone the rain 
Falls 'gainst my casement — hush thou demon Pain 
Thy weird refrain ! 



I leave the storm-swept casement suddenly : — 
But at a late hour, when the wind is high 
And sounding out its yearning midnight cry, 

I look abroad ; — and see the moon supreme, 
Traverse the blue serene with stainless beam. 
While Yenus' flight and the storm seem a dream. 
September 30, 1858. 



THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. H 



THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 

A BROW of altitude Shakspearian : 
And yet it was a woman's — say a child's ; 
For she was but sixteen : yet like a seer's 
Her life was full of wisdom ; and her talk 
As measur'd sweet as though her soul had drunk 
The wisest things of books, and in its own 
Fullness, self-orb'd, deliberated, mus'd, 
And wrought in calm. 

^jC ?js 5jC 5jC 5jJ 

Next time I saw her, 'twas her birthday morn ; — 
Some months had pass'd and she was seventeen : 
Such beauty I had not conceiv'd — her face 
Was like to Hera's in its luminous calm, 
Athene's in its strength, and Aphrodite's in 
Its love ; — these regnant, classic silences 
All gaz'd upon me in her presence — there 
Those fam'd ideal triumphs had found life ; 
Their graces crown'd her triply, and should glow 
Immortal — for her soul gave birth to them : 
I lov'd her, yet did tremble to possess. 

Last time I saw her that large brow was wreath'd 
With shining lilies — they were laid so close, 
Filling the coffin's head, as to contrast 
Yividly with the pure expanse they crown'd ; — 
Which own'd a deadlier whiteness — there she lay. 
Placid : — her seventeen years still radiant in 
Her hair's soft, coiling gold which veil'd her arms, 
Passing the mute, mute shoulders with caress 
So instinct with life-beauty, I could scarce 
Think it was Death, they swept so lovingly. 

September 14, 1858. 



72 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 

Oh, immortal land of childhood, sweeping down a 
paeon grandly 
From your sunlit slopes of glory, and your rivers 
crystal clear, — 
In my thought ye lie transfigur'd, spreading peacefully 
and blandly, 
Over-syllabled by mystic sounds the millions cannot 
hear. 

Gaze I then on haloed roses, each grand tree like harp 
ring then does — 
Land for poet inspirations, dreams and visions un- 
defiled ; 
Yes, all undisturb'd by world-strife lie its pure serenest 
splendors — 
Land for idyls to be written in — an Eden to a 
child ! 

Still I look upon the vision — still I listen to the 
music 
Borne from where its borders send forth beams cast 
from its central heart, — 
Dropping blessings on my later mood — the stern and 
melancholic — 
Through its vibrant spirit-voices, loftiest truths it 
doth impart. 

There my youth from hand of God did calm receive 
its conscious blisses, — 
Still I feel the tranquil rapture which surrounded 
me those days — 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 73 

Oh, I seem to see my father's form, to feel my mother's 
kisses 
Press'd on innocent child-lips ere they'd interpreted 
world's ways ! 

Heaven play'd a gracious part there, for I was a child 
of nature, 
Serious- thoughted, and yet joyful with the mildness 
of her face ; 
Loved my nature — meditated — though not yet of poet 
stature 
And enring'd with visions wondrous as draw poets 
from her grace. 

Each new morn awoke my musings — heaven's warm 
gold, earth's fragrant freshness ; — 
As Eve's crimson, vesperous voices — all awoke my 
soul to see : 
Such companionship fail'd not to make necessity's 
grim leash less 
Felt, than if such commune had not freedom's es- 
sence nursed in me. 

Kevel'd I in Nature's spirit ; largeness thence my spirit 
drawing, 
I grew older than my summers, while an infant's 
brows were mine ; — 
Their white innocence had gradual grown the broader 
for my thinking. 
And the calm, impassion'd worship which I felt for 
things divine ! 

So existence grew more rapturous — so its nectarous 
wine imbibing, 
Pierced I into all life's mystery — had without the 
strife, the bliss ; 



14: THE artist's picture. 

Read its grand illumin'd writing — grew more vigorous 
though subscribing, 
And too, cognizant of many things which full-grown 
poets miss. 

One who read well men's souls, writeth that we aye 
must lose the glory 
As we pass from childhood's clearness into murky 
manhood's state ; 
And we know that as we journey far beyond its golden 
glow, we 
Hold a loving God's divineness less by sight than 
grace of fate. 
, 1857. 



THE ARTIST'S PICTURE. 

And then with instinct all divine 

She wrought the picture, line on line — 

Which soon look'd out with haloed twine 

Of tresses round a regal brow 
They crown'd as royally as do 
Sunioeams the winter's domed snow. 

I gaz'd thereat with strong surprise : 
From out those cavernous depths of eyes, 
Where seem'd to burn a sacrifice, 

I caught such inspirations come 
I stood there gazing — always dumb 
At the strange soul did them illume. 



THE artist's picture. tS 

A light ensphered her head serene, 
Which seem'd to radiate from between 
The glowing coils that crown'd the queen. 

The burning orbs back flash'd this blaze 
And seem'd the steadier for my gaze — 
Full of deep, potent influences. 

At length I turn'd to her whose thought 
Its supreme silence forth had brought 
In this creation ; — which had sought 

My strongest sympathies to find 

Its matchless grace and power combined 

And depth of meaning to unwind. 

(The artist here has shown her soul, 
Her lofty aims have touch'd their goal. 
And it doth burn indeed, as roll 

God's harmonies about it, while 
She worketh raptly without guile — 
So did inspired prophets toil. 

Her soul's a flaming altar, where 

More sacred sacrifices are 

Offer'd, than brazen ones e'er saw.) 

She stood all pale, and gazed too ; 

But her smile's splendor round her threw 

Soft beams, 'till she transfigur'd grew. 

Her eyes were fix'd upon the soul 
Which hers had given that simple scroll 
Of canvas : — Power in aureole ! 



16 SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN ON SHIPBOARD. 

She saw a shadowing forth herein 
Of what her soul so long had seen 
In trance — its glory reflected shine. 
March 14, 1858. 



SUPPOSED TO BE WEITTEN ON SHIPBOARD. 

Ah, sweet home, sweet home, thou callest me ! 

Over the kindling sea 
Thy vision com'st to make the wanderer sigh, 

As on the ship's deck high 
Stretch'd, he doth watch opaline streaks, the sky 
Light, and the keel-cleft waters silently. 

Thou call'st me ! Yocal all thy beauties are 
Of thy dear lost one's name — pilgrim o'er seas — 
But who, as he just watch'd morn's dying star 
Yearn'd toward thine olden benedicites I 

Beautiful rises it ! — enring'd with sward, 
Emerald-green, fill'd with swaying crowns of flowers — 
Each one of which convey'd a meaning broad, 
Each summer to my unspoil'd childhood's powers. 

Ah, there the Yucca lifts its peerless stalk. 
Wreathed with pure bells — magnificently fair ! 
And my old playmates wander down the walk, 
And talk of me, and wish that I were there. 

Ah, sweet home, might I see thee ! Homesick heart, 
Peace, peace ! — what shows now crowd upon thy gaze ! 
For these vast majesties which circle thee 
Has not thy soul one faulty word of praise ? 



JUNE. tt 

Only I see 
A house with wings ; swept backward by a wood ; 
And jasper cedars fronting it : they've stood 
Aye so, unmoved ; dark and of kingly mood ; — 
And I yearn toward them; — shutting my rapt soul 
To the dumb glories of the vasty heaven, 
And purple waters which around me roll 
Mightily sobbing : — making in my ears 
Sonorous music ; with the minor strain 
Too sadly prominent to ease my pain ! 
October 15, 1858. 



JUNE. 

Butterflies flash forth, 
Hillsides are glowing ! 

Farewell, oh, cold North, 
South winds are blowing I 

Breaking their emerald bands 
Flame forth the roses ! 

Over its golden sands 
The light stream courses ! 

Shouted thy praise is, day. 

By birds delirious : 
What doth their hymning say 

Of thy life delicious ? 

Heavens, like another sea. 
Glow blue and mighty ; — 

Softly surge clouds, and die 
Like crested waves free ! 

7 



T8 AN IDYL. 

Clear melt the hills away, 
Blue wed to blue air ; 

Into the dome of day 
Lifting up heads fair I 

Blessings upon this June ! 

Gods laugh around us : 
We know your spheric tune, 

We your Elysium guess I 

Evil's black pinions furPd, 
Naught ill discloses 

Now when this brave old world 
Is ablaze with roses ! 
June, 1858. 



AN IDYL. 



From noontide heats 
The brook's shelter'd greenly ; — 

Lying serenely \ 

Where maples, and willows, and beeches press round, ! 

Entwining arms o'er the moss-cover'd ground, ! 

Where the wild deer leaps down j 

Drooping his antler'd crown — ] 

Head princely crested, to drink. 



O'er the emerald sward 
Near its brink, 
Two lovers pace — Ridgely and Maud : 
She timid and fair as the deer, 
Which often she'd watch'd, without fear. 

Come hitherward. 
Unheeding the maiden, to drink. 



AN IDYL. 79 

Happy are they ! 
Sweet Maud is fair : 
Shadowy hair 
Trails o'er her arms 
Heightening their charms : 
(But her soul is fairer than they ; 
That the stars in their courses are less sublime, 
Smiling forever in face of Time, 
Than her spirit's pensive, steady shine 
In the wood, or 'neath heaven's crystalline. 
Angels would not gainsay:) 
In softest waves and wildest curls 
Passes her slender waist : like pearls 
The dew-drops often gem those lengths. 
Sweet thoughts broaden'd his brow : 
On her cheek the rose and the pallor of love 
Equally strove. 

They wander arm in arm : 
She stooping oft for paly flower, 
Shade-nursed, and lavishing its dower 
Of perfume on the wood's still gloom : 
Naught may that gentle breast alarm. 

Oh day, fade soon ! — 
The morn shall make the lovers one. 



The mellow hour of the evening comes ; 

Sweet day is on the wane ; 
The cows slow-paced from the dasied lane 
Came lowing content ; — while the cottage dame 
As they came 
Watch'd from her door : 
Pastures stretch away — 
By farewell light of day 



80 AN IDYL. 

Are seen ; — and many a wheat-field's tender shine : 
And near, the hives in one long odorous line 
Toward which the late bees crowd, giddy with wice 

Of the flowers, 
Letting fall their wax in powdery showers 
As they wheel 
In a rapturous reel ! 
Her children, scatter'd on homely turf, 
Romp'd ; or standing agaze in groups around 
At the sun-god's ruddy sunset swound, 
Faces of reverie wear. 



Then the lady wander'd from out her bower 

In this grand and lovely evening hour, 
For the Spirit of Beauty demoniacal 
Held her impassioned soul in thrall 
To all that was noble and magical I 
And to-morrow spoken the vow must be 
That raises the maiden to wife's degree. 

I see her no more, nor would if I could 
In the dewy gloom of this ancient wood ; 
For the rapturous joy of motherhood 
Crowns with double halo her beauty fair — 
And she seeketh no more the forest's lair 

To muse o'er her fancies rare : 
Reality holdeth joys yet more fair 

Than those silent, brook-side musings were. 

This brook lies away in the West; — 
The mosses in which it is drest. 
The trees rear'd above. 
Are luxuriant growths of its soil : 



THE PALACE OF NATURE. 81 

And now, though you see 
No maiden pause there silently — 

The wild deer still bends 

The delicate ends 
Of his branched crown to drink, 
As erst when the maiden Maud 

Haunted its brink 1 
SeiHemher, 1858. 



THE PALACE OF NATURE. 

Ceil'd by the endoming heaven 

Solemnly, blandly. 
With a grove of lindens riven 

By an aisle, clos'd grandly 
With the cedar — tree of trees, 
For the ensphering harmonies 
To roll round their cadences. 

Palace mine in Nature's heart 

Above your scorning ! — 
Which no need hath of man's art 

For its adorning, — 
Yet disdains not inspiration 
Of man's grand imagination, 
Not the artist-soul's creation. 

Buonarroti's statues there 

" Night and morn" surrender : 

Leaving their Italia's air 
Its calm, blue splendor ; — 

Tower here amid my trees 

To inspire high reveries : 

They do e'en this Nature please. 
7* 



THE PALACE OP NATURE. 

Roses here aloft shall grow 

Twining and climbing — 
From cedar's base to apex show 

For altar flaming : 
And for incense below 
Lilies shall broadly glow, 
Lifting their regal snow. 

Yast hills shall bound it in 

Grander for dimness ; — 
Distant, blue, and serene 

In their divineness ; — 
Koyal, like forms in dreams 
Where Zeus' forehead gleams 
Alp-like, crown'd with Day's beams I 

In undulations long, — 

(Trees sunshine veiling 
Fill'd with perpetual song,) 

Clouds o'er them sailing, — 
Meadows flow to their feet : 
In emerald light complete 
They go the hills to meet. 

Nature aye be my retreat — 

This spot beloved ! 
Most sacred, grand and sweet ♦ 

Of all that have moved. 
Through this aisle my soul shall travel ; 
Ah, these lindens shall unravel 
Many a doubt heart-sown by evil ! 

Through their grand stems I shall view 
That flower-gemm'd meadow ; — 

There fly my thought o'er dew 
Sunshine, — fleck'd shadow ; — 



THE EMIGRANT. 83 



'Till dreamy mountains lone 

Send back to me my own 

With heavenlier power and tone. 

At cedar's base I'll pause 

Morning and even 
That I may send my vows 

From thence to heaven : 
Then shall your ruddy splendor, 
Roses, wake memories tender, — 
Lilies, you your sweets me render. 

Those grand, dumb statues then 

Eloquent showing, — 
Twilight shall see serene, 

Night, grander growing ! 
Then, 'neath the stars, I'll feel 
Immortal visions steal 
O'er me, for endless weal. 
September, 1858. 



THE EMIGRANT. 



I AM weary — the long day's done — 
Spent in felling trees in the sun : 
Tired my limbs and sad my heart I 
The grateful night will soon depart. 

Sadly I sit me down to rest, 
For the thin-streak'd red in the East, 
At dawn, shall call me again to toil, — 
Tho' sinews ache with to-days turmoil. 



84 THE CHURCH. 

Yet I should smile I my Jessie's here ; 
Who left her Scotia loved, with cheer 
To share my fortunes : toil doth she 
But always in serenity. 

Oh, yes, no sour regret doth she 

Let me in all her countenance see 

More than when seem'd our lives so blest — 

When first love's power our souls confest I 

A day shall come for fuller joys, 
When of an age to assist, the boys 
Have grown, who now climb round my knee 
The past held no sweet prophecy 

Of them : and so the future, more 
Blessings for us may hold in store : 
Stout be my heart, and strong my arm, 
And God protect our cot from harm ! 
October, 1858. 



THE CHURCH. 



With a slender, upward pointing spire 
Seeming to rise ever higher 

Into broad-spread, regnant heavens above,- 
Stands the structure of my love ! 

Oh, an apostolic grace 
Clothes and sanctifies the place 
To our view ! 

Unpretending and yet holy — 

Sight to silence noisy folly 
Breaking out from heaven's blue ! 



REMEMBRANCE. - 85 

For it crowns a high-rolPd hill, 
And has sky for background, 'till 

You'd think't a vision, 
Coming on it unaware 
At hill-foot — to see it fair 

Set, 'bove derision. 

^ 5jC ^ 5(C ;JC 

What peal breaks forth, what cadence swims around ? 
Aloft the church-bell swingeth in the tower : 
I listen — loud doth mellow music pour 
From it : my soul feels rapture in the hour, 
And falls into a sweet abyss of sound I 
Summer of 1858. 



REMEMBRANCE. 



FROM MATXniSSON. 



I THINK of thee when from the grove 
The nightingales discourse of love 
And their sweet symphonies me move. 
When dost thou think of me ? 



I think of thee at twilight's hour 
Where gloom obscures the fountain's shower, 
And steals the tints from every flower. 
Where dost thou think of me ? 

I think of thee with charmed pain, — 
Sweet hopes and fears alternate reign — 
And hot tears often shed like rain. 
How dost thou think of me ? 



86 AUTUMN. 

Oh, think of me 'till blissfully 
We shall at last united be 
Under stars more propitiously 
To shine ! However far removed we be 
I'll ever think, love, only upon thee ! 
, 185G. 



AUTUMN.* 

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL EPISODE. 

The leaf is falling ; and the sky is strange 

With equinoctial tokens : so I look 

On fiery splendors of the Autumn woods 

(Where birds ehaunt plaints amid the rainbow'd 

leaves) 
Shadow'd by trailing clouds of swarthy hues, 
And the bright-petal'd Fall flowers perishing 
In the new rime, — and vividly recall, 
As visions of the vernal year sweep o'er 
The Present's changed aspect, all the joys 
Of my fair childhood, glowing 'yond the now 
Like statues pure, immortal grouping seen 

* For the autobiographical tone of many of the poems in this 
volume, I have no apology to offer, and can only defend myself 
by reference to precedents afforded by some of the most splen- 
did names in the poetical calendar, as Dante, Goethe, Byron, 
and others, whose example is sufficient to shelter the genuine 
expression of any experience, though I am aware that the very 
greatest aBsthetical triumphs have not been achieved by this 
style of writing, and that those poets who have delineated 
their theme to the exclusion of themselves have produced the 
most magnificent results. So did Homer, Milton, Shakspeare, 
and the Greek dramatists and other poets. 



AUTUMN. 8^ 

Through rifted gloom black with the thunderbolt — 
Or all ablaze with lightning. Oh, I liv'd 
A charm 'd and potent life in that sweet Past ! 
For then I read the heavens like a book ; 
And drank their mingled clearness and repose 
With such rapt longing, I seem'd satisfied ! 
Ah, then October's month was full of bliss I 
For when I careless push'd aside the boughs 
The season's splendors flash'd across my sight, 
Hillsides and trees magnificently dight. 
And standing up like various-color'd flames 
Seen through a violet haze. The beech was fair : 
The rotund-bodied apple-tree more gay 
Than in the bright-ton'd robe May gave its limbs, 
With fruity gold pendant against the blue : 
Deep crimson flush'd all the high, cone-like tops 
Of the familiar garden lindens, while 
Their bases yet retain'd the accustom'd green : 
The osage orange grove's deep emerald gloss 
Chang'd to a brilliant hue which could not grieve : 
The wind rung through the forest trees a march, 
Or sung and swept over the garden ground 
All bravely jubilant ! — I felt naught sad 
In all those vanish'd Autumns I recall. 
[ heard the sportsman's gun among the hills 
Sever the silence ; and cock's dreamy crow. 
And music of the evening kine bells wrought 
A secret trance of rapture in my soul : 
The golden brown of the far summits, then 
With mellowing harvests, haunts me still ; for I 
Thought them more lovely than when I'd beheld 
Those sweetest hills lapping like emerald waves 
In summer, when my child's Parnassus rear'd 
The loftiest, fairest, smoothest-curved head 
Among them : not less fair it look'd for mists ; 



88 AUTUMN. 

But stood as erst when I had nam'd it mine 

Cloud-swept, wind-woo'd, belov'd of heaven and me I 

Yet summers were divine — oh ! then the storm 

Breath'd sweeter music than the birds do now : 

I had grown older ; read, and thought, and lov'd — 

But only Nature — with more passionate life ; 

And drunk with lore of old mythologies, 

And all my soul with sights and sounds aflame, 

Beheld when sun in his noon strength rejoie'd, 

Or his last beams transfigured the trees, 

Great Pan abroad with Hamadryad es. 

Leaping around him in strange ecstasies. 

Then no grand phantasm faded into air. 

But all my life was visionary ; and grew 

Like a disbodied soul's for Beauty, Power : 

I heard the passionate wind among the branches 

Discourse most amorous melodies and sweet ; 

The lilies open'd splendors to the sun 

So purely exquisite, as woke my awe ; 

I bound a wreath of subtil'st rainbow tints 

Gather'd from all the flowers, across my brow. 

And when June's roses fell in fragrance from 

The parent stalks and found sweet graves below, — 

I watch 'd the purpling clusters of the vine 

Mature their nectarous riches silently, 

Rejoie'd by the hot kisses of the sun : 

Through bowering shades I look'd on sunny heights ; 

My chosen arbor nurs'd my wayward moods — 

My contemplation's jealous privacies — '^ 

So thickly was it canopied with leaves. 

Except where open'd out through vine- clad boles 

Of giant oaks a place for entrance and 

"Views of all fair perspectives from within ; 

From thence I could look out upon a scene 

Of sunlit meadows stretching far, clos'd by 



AUTUMN. 89 

ild-outlin'd hills, all overslione by blue 

' summer heavens, — which own'd no lurid tint, 

it lay becalm'd in rapture all the day, 

)v'd of soft-fringed vapors; — their broad brows 

D thunderous piles nor brassy fronts did show, 

it, bath'd in glory of the summer sun 

hich crown 'd their foreheads oft with flamy beams, 

ood girt with splendors 'till I left my bower. 

len with delight I view'd the rack of storm 

ud listen'd to the rhythms of the thunder ; 

)r elemental strife rous'd the bold soul 

' youth to sympathetic ardors — then, 

hen moaning winds had heighten'd to a gale, 

lictur'd Neptune glad upon his waves 

irdling in storm, — and every Triton knew 

inding his shell joyous amid their spray 

ith shrilly triumph : — on far coral coasts 

5aw old Xereus lift aloft his horn, 

?reid('S their spiral bugles blow 

id sound shrill-winding strains long-drawn and 

clear, 
lill, chill and keen ; and the high vibrant notes 
> finely penetrant still did not die, 
ve with the raging storm and surging waves I 
3W brave the sombre hues of heaven grew 
le more I gaz'd upon their daring dun ! — 
id saw the lightening blush athwart their gloom 
owing their hearts, and crimsoning all the green 
Drizon trees. And so these summers pass'd, 
U'd with deep musing ; ere my soul had nurs'd 
thought of toil. But autumn is my theme, 
le mid-year season gone, — the Fall return'd : 
bund my childhood verging upon youth 
id first ambitions rampant in my soul : 
ook'd abroad and look'd within, and said, 



90 AUTUMN. 

" What matters it if worlds proclaim my fame. 

Or if my own soul, and the angel's faces 

Illumin'd with high wisdom, only it 

Acknowledge ? — I can bear to be unknown 

(Yet all the while I yearn-d for recognition) 

On earth, when heaven already says, ' Thou art 

Gifted of God, our brother ; if neglect 

From men be thine, endure it meekly — yet 

With highest mien of love : if unsought praise, 

Still meekly and still lovingly : ours is thine !' 

T am a poet, whether grosser men, 

False-reckoning, count me none, or whether they 

Confess the truth with reverence and love : 

My sweet and lonely childhood full of dreams 

Never reveaFd to mate, while my rapt soul 

Mus'd in its silent, serene solitude, 

Proves it to me through memory — the Now 

Through million glories self-conceiv'd and seen : 

I know it, oh, my God ! and I may wear 

TJnchidden of conscience, kingly bearing aye. 

I will give birth to works which shall contain 

All nature — comprehensive, luminous : 

Their matchless strength and scope shall stamp them 

great, 
Full of clear proofs of immortality ! 
Into the boundless universe I melt 
And lind myself in her wild majesty. 
As in a vast congenial element : — 
I comprehend her largeness and would clothe 
Her truths in noblest guise of Poesy." 
Where are they now, those visions of my youth ? 
Where are those hopes that scaPd the topmost peaks 
Of visionary endeavor? Where that youth 
Which girt its brows with Fame's large coronal 
Of flame ? — and spoke impetuously of Power ? 



AUTUMN. 91 

STow all my soul is vocal — but what sounds 

Utter imperiously their burden dark ? 

L plaint — a wail, rush moaning mightily 

[ hear — and sadden'd Nature looketh on 

A.S erst I did on her, with sympathy : 

Sut both our moods have ehang'd — my low estate 

^he fain would comfort, but can only mourn, 

A. thousand memories crowd, — I have but voice 

For two ; and sing them in the minor strain : 

Long ago, 
[ heard the long, melodious, liquid flow 
3f flute-strains in the halcyon summer eves : 

Now, while pale autumn grieves, 
[ know my brother wanders full of pain 
ind desolate, about the home again, 
tVhere his aspiring youth was wont to wake such 
strain. 

Long ago, 
3efore the earth grew dark and I knew woe, 
[ heard a grand, sonorous voice intone 

Great Milton's vision lone : 
S'ow, while those cadences no longer flow, 
[ know its gloomy fellowship with woe — 
ind weeping, wake to hear the bitter North wind blow. 

3ome, Spirit of the Past, and bury me 
Deep 'neath the honeysuckle flowers I lov'd 
'Coral-hu'd, dewy, fragrant with the Sjiring) 
in my sweet youth ! Ah, haste ! and lay me deep 
A.mid their loveliness — so my lorn heart 
Shall gather calmest comfort. Not too far 
Let lilies blow around my grave's deep bed, 
^Vaviug white splendors pitying o'er ray rest. 



92 AUTUMN. 

Say ye, "it is not time — not yet, — not yet !" 

And why " not yet ?" — cold, phantom-like, and pale, 

My hopes all stand aloof — and I see naught 

But funerals in the sunshine : and I know 

These are no phantasies ; the very heaven 

I look upon and say, — the words upsurge — 

" Oh, azure depth of sky, thou smil'st upon 

My heart as erst ! — and thy vast depth is full 

Of my wise childhood's dreams — and now I feel, 

Having attain'd to manhood, and the sum 

Of life's responsibilities, awYl by 

Thy calm, divine, unchanged aspect." So 

Down-gazing with this balm upon my soul 

I scan the earthward prospect — and 'tis peace ! 

Is equinox then past ? This know I not ; 

My musings measure not the flight of time. 

But all the storm is laid — the scene most fair, 

Rosy with Autumn's mist- wreaths ; a soft, warm, 

And many-color'd halo ; while the hills. 

With the broad river flowing at their feet. 

Seem in united grandeur to express — 

Emblem the advent of a great Bepose I 

And why not gloom and sadness, change and death ? 

Oh, Poesy must see all sides of life 

To be true poesy : — Calliope's pale 

With viewing accidents of p]pic weight, 

E'en while she smiles victorious over all ^ 

To think of how the good is always great. 

Absorbing ill. Melpomene is stern : 

Why not? "For what," we ask ourselves, "indeed. 

Is tragedy, but portrayal of these, 

Disaster — death — with just this difference. 

That they are grander in the poet's hands 

And more impressive than the facts in life ; — 



AUTUMN. 93 

le using all the agencies of Dread 
With such godlike intent, judgment and skill — 
Lnd more felicity than nature uses — 
Is to produce a mightier result 
?han most men's death-beds on the minds of men. 
fes ! I am glad to see both sides of life : 
Lnd know my poems, should I write such now, 
Shall have completed souls in them for this, 
^his pause of thought is perfect — I'm content!" 
Lnd now the wild sweet bells of evening clang 
)ut in clear chorus. Sound they not to me 
Ln earnest of the future deep and strange ? 
Ipeak they from towers — discoursing in the wind 
nspir'dly to me ; and now I see 
lu angel soft descend amid their chaunt 
rith divine mildness : and, " Angel," I say. 
Kiss otf my tears !" Her wings o'ershadow me ; 
'he tokens of my mourning disappear ; 
he breathes the name I wept o'er as I sung, 
Lud all her prophecy is bright with hope 1 
Lt last she taketh flight, and I look forth — 
Lud though the Autumn leaves sound solemnly 
>n harp-strings of the wind. — the pale, serene 
Lmber of autumn sunsets fills the West, 
'o this content I cannot say " 'Tis vain 1" 
►r, " Is't a dream '/" or, " 'Tis a phantasy !" 
SejHembcr, 1S58. 



8* 



94 EXTRACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 



EXTRACTS FEOM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.* 



Oh, tliou, New Enp^land ! — how I long'd to view 
Thee in thy .grandeur stern, thy native charms, 
Thy far-faniYl beauty, ere that joy I knew I 
Fancy portray'd thee ; and my si)irit warms 
Still, as the recollection time disarms ; — 
(Yet oh, I found reality had shrin'd 
Shows far more potent than thy unreal furms;) 
How oft I pictured to my ardent mind 
The new, enchanting prospects there I thought to 
find! 

And I have seen thee ! — where his days began — 
The land that nourished him deplor'd, my sire, 
Who as his boyhood sprung into the man, 
Bodied thy spirit as he did respire 
Thy breezes; — ^yet I seeing did inquire 
When aspects lofty, grave, and sweet, and stern — 
Where thousand separate beauties blent their fire — 
Met my delighted eyes at every turn, 
If loveliness so varied sprang not from Fancy's urn. 

But landscapes that in vivid splendor shone 
Mirror'd within, yet still existent round 
Forbade the thought, and nature claim'd her own ; 
Said to my heart — " Behold ! what does surround 
Thee, rest in ; thou shalt surely then be crown'd 



^ Subject, New England. 



EXTRACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 95 

AVith lasting pleasures — naught is there denied 
Thee to enjoy ; Fancy's gay realm is found 
Ignoble by the contrast with my pride ; 
With full appreciation be thou satisfied !" 

Faintly my mind had drawn what was in store, 
For all thy charms no prophecy could dare ; 
My enchanted vision asketh now no more ; 
And I will drink in draughts of purer air, 
Surrounded by these sights sublimely fair ! 
A full, involuntary oftering bring 
To shrine of song, and lay it humbly there ; 
Soar on Imagination's tireless wing, 
And in my sweetest strains this matchless laud will 
sing ! 

I crown me with the earliest rose of June 
And snatch my harp, careless of who gainsay ; — 
Now when the nightingales are all in tune, 
And we have just bid farewell to the May : 
C'ome, Calliope, and inspire my lay ! 
Smile on me. Truth, as I thy charms declare ! 
Let every word reflect thy heavenly ray ; — 
I rather would thy benediction wear 
Than any gift of Fame's — such never perfect were. 

How gloriously the summer morn has risen ! 
The sky was never half so brightly pure 
In its dark loveliness ; nor light clouds driven 
With half such gentle force o'er the obscure ; — 
Melting away in azure, while they lure 
The steadfast gaze to rest upon their forms ! — 
Angelic messengers they seem with sure 
Purpose to waft, without a thought of storms : 
Ah, their soft, silvery wings are lust where ill ne'er 
comes ! 



96 EXTRACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 



A fair and goodly scene arrests my gaze 
As onward still I journey ; — now is seen 
The springing grain ; it o'er the hills displays 
Its slender burnish 'd leaves of golden green : 
Their long and graceful lengths with sunny sheen 
Rustle and wave like pennons in the air ; 
No army's front so gracious ere has been ; 
Mild is the scene ; I fain would linger here 
Where scatter'd the sweet coru-flowers smile, upspring- 
ing near ! 

The summer day is drawing to a close : 
Nature spread out in passive beauty lies ; — 
And seems the emblem of a great repose 
As before eve's cool reign the daylight flies, 
And twilight clothes the heavens in deeper dyes : 
Softly the stars steal out — the mountains swell 
Grandly and dark ; — their summits in the skies ! 
And from a village near, the evening bell 
Tolls solemnly — I think it is a funeral knell I 



And then to ancient Salem did we hie ; — 
Where in the old time there did much abound 
Monstrous beliefs of pure absurdity; — 
Where Witchcraft rear'd her horrid head; — and 

round 
Weak, wretched souls was thought her spells to have 

wound, 
And brought dire scenes to be enacted there, 
'Till the land groan'd 'neath crimes — in blood half 

drown'd ; 
And Superstition foul, her fell reign o'er, 
Sank before Reason's light, we trust to rise no more. 



EXTRACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 9t 

The fine old city with its antique cheer, 
Its dwellings ancient, venerable trees, — 
One scarce can realize while gazing here 
That auglit but Peace ere brooded in the breeze. 
(Naught but the quiet beauty round one sees.) 
Ah, whence did come the miserable thrall 
That bound deluded souls in wilder'd maze, — 
When vicious toils seem'd to environ all 
And slavish, fearful souls in hell-bonds to enthrall ? 

Yet not in vain the tide of human blood 
Flow'd darkly on the execrable hill ; 
The murder of these guileless ones has stood 
A warning to New England's sons — and still 
The record causeth many an earnest thrill 
Of indignation in the nation's breast : 
Writ in the peo])le's heart, it ever will 
Give birth to justice, hasty deeds arrest ; 
He shall be shriven who stands of ignorant sin con- 
fest ! 

But now a potent presence calls us on ! — 
The swift car speeds too slow for our rapt mind : 
Ah, we have read of, and have mus'd upon 
Ye, Spirit, 'till ye seem no more confined 
In bodily durance ; but sublimed ! — shall find 
Our spirits what they seek in thee ? Oh, haste ! 
AV^e soon shall all your wondrous power unwind. 
To-night we shall a noble banquet taste — 
And shall Rachel be true to all our thought has faced ? 
***** 

Then the approach to Boston ! Grandly rose 
In the noon sunlight modern Athens' towers, 
As o'er the water swift the flying cars 
Sped on their way, to make the city ours : 



EXTRACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 



i 



And nearer, nearer to the glittering shores 
Each moment brought us ; — as the iron-horse 
On thunder'd ! — Ere upon our future h3\vers 
Its uiidimm'd grandeur, gladly would our course 
We stay, now, — lengthening this, ere all her tongues 
discourse ! 
***** 

We see Her ! — and she looketh like to those 
Spirits of the Inferno, — darkly bright ! 
Strangely upon our eyes her looks disclose — 
Not like a peerless angel of the light, — 
But in intense and thunderous splendors dight : 
Her voice, like her, demoniacal, inspired, 
Its full and thrilling music pours — our sight 
Never beheld her semblance ; — she, attired 
In more than human Woe, with seraph's Force is fired. 

Thou flaming Spirit ! Dante, did'st thou see 
This soul a-burning in thy destin'd hell ? 
And if so, those red tortures bore not she 
Defiantly, as though she them could quell ? 
Oh, Voice ! thy tones must aye in memory dwell — 
Rich, vibrant, even in thy wan despair : 
All still'd was ray aw'd spirit's restless swell 
At sight of throes that held her fainting there 
With agony — and yet with might her triumph could 
declare 

To those who watch'd ! — All-potent, glorious thing 
Toss'd on the waves of turbid torture, where 
Thy splendor doth baleful radiance fling. 
What art thou ? creature of the boundless air ? 
Disbodied soul, from Tartarus ? Dost bear 
Message of fateful torment to thy foes ? 
Thou art a presence ! thou that movest there — 
Strange, self-contain'd, perfect in high self-poise 
Which swiftest might and noiseless majesty yet shews ! 



1 



EXTRACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 99 

No mortal thou, thus to contend with woe, 
With rage of Titaness and goddess mien — 
Nor sink o'erwhelmed— but only stronger grow 
" Close-lock'd in strife," such as ne'er yet was seen 1 
Where hast thou, oh unutterable, been 
To buy this power ? Why art thou not overcome 
In this thy last extremity ? The keen 
Shafts of the giant, Death, at last consume 
Thy wondrous strength, and so thou meet'st thy 

doom !* 
***** 

Our wanderer had a sister, priceless gift !— - 
Whom he ne'er wearied thinking on — so high 
The theme it help'd his darker soul to lift 
From the abyss of doubt, despondency — 
So lofty was her nature's poetry : 
And wlien removi-d still she smiled as erst, — 
In spirit she to him was ever nigh : 
ller calm enthusiasm 'mid the worst 
Of earth's dark ills alone made his life blest, not curst ! 
***** 
Great God ! what might not Poesy and Truth 

Do for those who have ever lov'd them here : 
Might they not turn aside the fearful ruth 

Of disappointment, — worldliness, that sear ? — 
That, acting on a tine-strung spirit, doth 

Make havoc often 'till it can but fear- 
Breaking its harmonies with discords rude 
And changing the soul's light to saddest mood ! 

Were I but sure that heaven's divinest gift, 
The gift of Poesy, were mine, I'd do 

Deeds with my i)en that the worn soul should lift — 
Bear it serenely thro' the far-ofl" blue, 

* I saw Rachel in the Fall of 1855, in "Adrienne Lecou- 
vi*eur." 



100 EXTRACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 



1 



Where shapes majestic throng with each his gift, 

Where all the virtues join in hymning new ; 
Where noble powers to harmony attune, 
And the soul basketh in divinest noon ! 

***** 
There, forms immortal paly round me shone* 
In silent grandeur, as I walk'd among 
Gods, Graces, Heroes ; — or glanc'd down upon 
The Laocoon and Children, vainly wrung 
In matchless agony ; to fury stung 
The stone cries outf — and watching hearts doth tear 
To cry out too : — or with a look upflung 
From gazing there, saw Raphael with his fair. 
Pale, sad madonna brow, that calms the very air I 

But grandest tower forms cast from masterful 
Originals, that early art had hew'd ; 
The full, free outline and concenter'd soul ; — 
As if to see what artist's power could 
Achieve — for though earth-burden'd,they yet would 
Their heavenly essence for all time enshrine, 
In forms struck out in their inspired mood : 
Symbolic of an energy divine. 
In one embodied blaze of genius do they shine ! 

Cluster'd in life serene, and strong, and high, 
How multiple their various looks appear ! 
Some on the wings of unbound ecstasy. 
Some absolutest grace of grief do wear : 

* In this extract reference is made to the collection of 
marbles in the Boston Atbenteum, which I visited in the sum- 
mer of 1855. 

f This language, of course, is figurative. I allude only to 
the agonized expression of the group; not to any representa- 
tion of vocal protest in the figures. 



THE POET AND THE CAVILLER. 101 

Those copied from the Attic Genius rear 
Their godlike fronts, and proudly still proclaim 
Beside the lesser glories them group'd near, 
Phidias yet unsurpassed, his might the same — 
Their own Greece first and best entitled to the name ! 
Summer of 1856. 



THE POET AND THE CAVILLER. 

A FRAGMENT. 
CAVILLER. 

Did you not fear sometimes you were deceived, 
That all your fancied power might be a dream ? 

Poet. 

As well might question Ocean's separate tides, 

Or lava veins of Etna of their power, — 

Or, better still, the pregnant universe : 

I tell you who has Reason for his guide 

And her twin sister, she whom men do call 

Imagination, — who from his youth up 

To early manhood, clear-ey'd conscience has 

Own'd for his friend — can have small dearth or doubt 

While the native powers of his soul remain 

What they are aye, and Nature is unchanged, 

I tell you Inspiration cannot fail 

To a poetic soul — it doubt its gifts. 

Caviller. 
So you work'd boldly, did you, and assur'd ? 



102 THE POET AND THE CAVILLER. 

Poet. 

So I work'd, my brother, and enfolding 
All my Reason's wealth in garb of rhyme, 

Twining in Imagination's flowers 

Sweet and pure as joys of summer-time ; — 

I did by my riant strength and beauty 

Strike even dull men with a strange surprise ; 

And the glory of my poems clearly 
Manifested was to dimmest eyes. 

For I told of wonders earth is brewing ; 

For I analyzed man's various mind ; 
For I made more plain divinest wisdom, 

'Till I seer and prophet left behind. 

Oh, while Nature holds this grandeur, can I 
Droop despondent ? The soaring spirit quail ? 

While my soul, too, is so full of visions, 
Shall I doubt ? Shall Inspiration fail ? 

No, my friend, no poet doubts his power. 

Though the world may scorn or pass him by : 

He is Happier when he looks the saddest 
Than all other men — as now am I. 

Can he help but feel his mission glorious ? 

God has crown'd him king among mankind : 
Noble gifts he knows shall one day triumph, 

And his memory by men be shrined. 
October, 1858. 



SONNETS. 1 03 

SONNETS. 

I. 

CHILDHOOD. 

Earth knew no dimness then, for every tree 
Was orb'd and laden with poetic thought : 
Through all my being lively Wonder wrought, 
Giving broad vision to my infancy : 
The heavens lean'd o'er me in benignity 
And the far distant hills wore Beulah's calm : 
Nature's airs were all freshness, spice, and balm. 
A rose was then a mystery to me — 
A glory compass'd each fair petal spread 
Forth to my childish gaze ; from placid mood 
My large-conceiving soul, with beauty fed 
Was stirr'd to ecstasy ! Some souls have stood 
Circled about with poems in their youth 
As earth is with the stars, and God with Truth. 
, 1850. 



n. 
THE POET'S CROWN. 

Crown'st thou the Poet ? — think'st to pleasure him 

I>y binding of bay leaves around his brow 

AVho the grand bliss of seeing God doth know, 

Who asks of earth no boon, but, not to dim 

His inspiration by its cruel whim ? 

Think better of it, World — since Tasso died 

Unhonor'd so (if honor't l)e) : beside 

Such poet's brow the laurel leaf would seem 



1 04 SONNETS. 

Lustreless — and fade only on its wide 
And white dominion : — wliile tlie souls would say, 
The disembodied ones on the other side 
Leaning from out th' eternal upper Day, 
"Attempt it not, Presumptuous — but obey! 
This poet God shall crown — east down your bay !" 
March, 1858. 



III. 
NATURE'S SYMPATHY. 

Since Pain's disc sank beneath Joy's horizon 
All nature seems transfigur'd and elate — 
To glow in calm : not storm-vexM, passionate ; 
And with tlie utterest sympathizing, on 
To swell the volume of my spirit's song ! 
The wind in forest trees new rhythms wakes, 
AVith grander music than to Grief it makes, 
S\vec))ing in blissful cadences along. 
The Spring's sweet showers mildly vocal grow, 
Wanting their minors; and the Summers smile 
Broader, with halcyon peace, o'er harvest toil ; 
Autumn is glorious ; through her requiems flow 
Telling of resurrection ; — Winter e'en 
Is haloed death — soon to arise in Spring. 
August 25, 1858. 



IV. 

AUTUMN. 

Haze-crown'd, the empurpled hills soft-outlin'd rose 
In fair perspective — while a noble sweep 
Of golden fields met them in forward leap : 
In sunset glory all the landscape glows : 



SONNETS. 1 05 

Grand dignity, and ripeness, and repose 
The scene doth own, — and too, a purpose deep 
As is God's thought : He working here shall reap 
In earth's abundance, and man's sweet outflows 
Of love and praise His harvest : so I mused, 
As walk'd I with ray friend and look'd al)road 
Upon the Autumn scenery ; where ditiused 
In matchless contrast, colors countless show'd 
Both soft and vivid — in the beech's spread 
Of noble foliage, — in the oak's grand head. 



AUTUMN (continued.) 

Concenter'd hues form'd rainbows round the brows 
Of forest giants, who lift heavenward 
Their steadfast gaze : that sky tiiey're yearning toward 
Ijike greatest souls : — let their calm striving rouse 
Humanity deeds heroic to espouse ; 
Man from his sad iudiiference into mood 
Of noble nature : so these trees have stood 
From infancy aspiring: "Ephraim knows 
This life," thought I, and fac'd him : solemnly 
Yet placidly he gaz'd as we did walk, 
In all his tranquil mien the dignity 
Of sacred Worth : so too my kinsman's talk 
The high serenity of Virtue docs 
Inspire : — a friend my life shall never lose. 
9* 



106 SONNETS. 

VI. 

AUTUMN (continued.) 

Oh, far blue hills, liow dim and grand ye snew'd, 
Waking strong yearnings in ray beating breast — 
Would that I might obey your high behest, 
And, passing swift and calm all barriers, could 
Repose amid your mighty glooms, which would 
Embosom me in vastest solitude 
And utterest silence ! Your so royal mood 
My soul would taste ! How eagerly he rode ! 
The master, yonder, in the field — divines 
My spirit suddenly his errand — home 
Returning, sees he a girl who stands and twines 
The blue corn-flowers whose leaves of dewy bloom 
Must crown the sheaf this eve — keen-ey'd, he sees 
Her sweeter yet than they for ministries. 
Sejpteviher, 1858. 



VII. 

ON SEEING ROSA BONHEUR'S "ATTELAGE 
NIYERNAIS." 

What vig'rous life, what various mood is here ! 
The long-lin'd oxen (a right royal row 
Conceived royally) move onw^ard slow : 
Concentrated the sweetness of the year 
Seems to glow over them, — yet doth appear 
In all the halcyon distance. Every eye 
In th' steady train, patient, or stubbornly 
Aroused — doth show the beast's strong nature clear ; 



SONNETS. lot 

These long do us detain — and the farmer, who, 
Infected with the influence of the hour, 
Half guides and half reposes 'gainst his plow. 
Oh, woman ! thine is the majestic Power — 
Thine the poetic soul, unerring eye 
Of Genius — thus thy work is masterly. 

September 15, 1858. 



VIII. 

ON A BETROTHAL. 

Come roses, flush more consciously, and ye 
Pure petall'd lilies, sweetest smells forth give ! 
Why speak I thus ? Why bid I ye to live 
A vivid er life ? Why would my spirit see 
Now only Beauty, Joy, and Fragrancy ? 
A lady loves ! Therefore oh, roses, blush 
A livelier crimson ; and in perfect hush 
Let all the lilies drooped placidly 
Kaise their blanch'd pureness ! She wholoveth flowers, 
More like to them than aught, should cheer have won 
And sympathy from them, now when the hours 
Crown her so gloriously with life's noblest crown : 
She is belov'd and loves : oh. Passion flower 
Thou may'st be emblem of this perfect hour ! 
August, 1858. 

IX. 

PATIENCE. 

Come, godlike guest, not unknown to that One 
Who erewhile suffer'd that we might rejoice : 
Come, make the divine calmness of thy voice 
To drown this rush and roar which leaveth none 



108 SONNETS. 

Of us who toil a place to rest upou. 

We've prov'd thee and would prove thee yet agam 

Come, take the sting forever from our pain : 

Look through, oh, Saint, as thou before hast done, 

What racks us : breathe into the tempest peace. 

And upon memory thy smile diffuse ; 

That the long agonies of past days lose 

Their fiery aspects : and then do not cease 

Thy ministrations 'till thy steady light 

Haloing the Past, illume the Future's night I 



X. 

PATIENCE (continued.) 

We welcome thee, strong Angel ! Take the place 
Of Hope, who cheer'd the days now pass'd away — 
Spreading her rainbow hues about our way — 
Thou art the best ; thou wear'st the holiest grace ! 
We worship the calm waiting of thy face : 
Speak to our aching hearts ! Our temple's pain 
Cool into quiet : let each burning vein 
With more sereneness carry on life's race : 
Yes, be our friend ! — let blest tranquillity, 
Belov'd of every sage, aspiring soul, 
Be ours amid the roaring, surging sea 
Of this world's action : while the billows roll 
Let us, sweet Patience, stem their rage with Thee I 
We know thou can'st support us and console I 
July, 26, 1858. 



SONNETS. 109 

XI. 

ALCESTIS. 

A SOLEMN stillness broods o'er earth and skies : 
Another martyr to the loftiest — Love — 
To-day shall see ; and yet they do not move — 
Those great-brow'd g^ods behold her with calm eyes ! 
(So shall they look when noble Arria dies.) 
l)ie, woman ! Ages shall exalt thy name : 
Set in the incense of a sacred fame 
Thou'lt live in memory of the heroic, wise ! 
Aloft Parnassus towers — no olive there 
Upon its side, nor pomep^ranate's bloom 
Pales in compassion for thine early doom, — 
Greece only looks more passionately fair : 
But that grand love long'd for so vainly here, 
Afar transfigures thee in Passion clear ! 



XII. 

ACLESTIS (continued.) 

The sea rolls smooth on Grecian shores as day 
Dies. Did Alcestis go to meet her fate ? 
Did the heart in her grasp her purpose great ? 
Yes ! — while the gods smiPd on nor did gainsay. 
(O'er the supreraest, fiercest lightcnings play.) 
O'er the far sky the purple hills expand : 
Near glows Parnassus, towering o'er the land I 
No pitying touch doth on its bright front lay. 



110 SONNETS. 

Thou diecl'st : and then thy life was given again. 
Ah, glorious spirit ! suffering to thee 
Has brought the boon of Immortality ! 
Embalm'd thy memory — this divinest pain — 
Bequeath'd thy praises to all thoughtful men — 
Made thy high heroism thy diadem ! 
August, 1858. 



XIIT. 

THE POET'S SENSE OF MISCONCEPTION. 

When the soul's grand Ideal outlin'd plain 
Perfectly fair, and in its mood divine, 
Transcendent, fit for heaven's crystalline 
Glows broad upon the vision of the brain — 
Then the controlling might of this world's pain, 
Often does not fall powerless as it should 
On such a consummation : rather would 
The man who has conceived divinely, deign 
To embrace grim Death ofttimes than feel the stings 
Of weaker brothers who see not his crown ; — 
Love not the soul which wider than theirs flings 
Immortal shapes forth — but oblivious frown 
At the sad inspiration of his youth — 
Decrying Genius, — seek to sneer down Truth. 
, 1858. 



XIV. 

TO MY MOTHER. 



Mother, but fifty years thy life doth own, 
And yet thou in sweet wisdom art supreme. 
A pure, heroic element doth seem 
Thy virtue's quietness to brighter crown. 
And set thee on an absoluter throne 



SONNETS. Ill 

Than many women attain to : thou the dream 
Of my rapt childhood realized. Deem 
My first sight low thou did'st not — thou alone 
Pointed the noblest heights out to my youth : 
Divinely pitiful to infancy 

Thou taught'st me to discern the highest truth — 
Until I too as clear as thou could'st see : 
And now, Belov'd, my poet soul would pay 
Such grateful tribute to thee as it may ! 
October 5, 1858. 



XV. 

MEMORY. 

Thee, sacred Memory, shall I revere 
As long as I soul's riches have for dower : 
Thou on whom all things grave themselves — a Power 
Coeval with our nature's life : oh, hear 
Her strong, clear-utter'd tones, thou student ! bear 
Her images of Highest things with thee — 
Absorb them with thy Soul's eye perfectly, 
And they'll enrich thy life for many a year ; 
Still to recur again, when at the Gate 
Of Death and Heaven thou stand'st and tremblest 
There they'll await to make thy passage blest: 
Premonitory records in this state 
Of what in Archetypal glory there thou'lt see 
Perfectly, clad in Immortality. 
, 1857. 



112 SONNETS. 

XYI. 

ADDRESSED TO ELLIS BELL'S SOUL: 

ON READING HER TOEM OF " THE PRISONER." 

Strong essence, where art thou, whom this world's 

pain, 
Baptiz'd so awfully ? — to whom each beam 
Of nature's shows fraught with tliy gloom did seem ? 
Thy martyrdom 1ms brought thee heavenly gain ; 
And thou no more dost watch the season's wane 
With that grand, piercing wistfulness afar 
As though all joy thy woe's sublime would mar. 
Thou ne'er shalt taste such misery again, 
Thou who discern'dst so clear thou could'st not smile : 
Thou for whom anguish liv'd and hope was dead. 
How doth thy God reward thy long, lone toil ? 
And what dost thou inherit in its stead ? 
Thou for the flaming crown of Earth's Despair 
The Heavenly, Immortal one dost wear. 
October, 1858. 



XVII. 

GOETHE. 

Most kingly seer ! in whose great luminous brain 
The Old World wisdom found a dwelling-place ; 
And yet where still remained ample space 
For all that had been born through later pain, — 
Thou who did'st search all ages — for thy gain 
Gathering their fruits : thou seeing our disgrace 
Then wrought'st our cure : thou with thy godlike face 
In which no trace was found of dark disdain, 



■ SONNETS. 113 

Dicl'st look with sympathy upon world's Woe : 
111 thee was found salvation for the Time : 
For thou, around whose Alpine brow did glow 
So grand a halo, sending forth sublime 
Divergent splendors, — did aforetime know 
Faust's mad unrest, and Werter's fiery gloom. 
October 29, 1858. 



xvin. 
MUSIC. 



Oh, Realm through which great Mozart's soul-wings 

soar'd 
Untiring ; while swift inspirations came 
Of during Sounds over his soul aflame 
With power; and thunderous melodies were pour'd 
To cheer him who all godlike things ador'd. — 
Thy grandeur colored Beethoven's dream ; 
Seraphic hymnings did pervading seem 
To mould his life. Thou, music, wert the lord 
Of divine Consuelo's soul, which saw 
The majesty of thy vast prodigies 
And learn'd the noble broadness of thy law: 
Earnest, enraptur'd, yet serene. Who sees 
Through clouds of prejudice and poisonous lies 
George Sand, thee in thy heroine, is wise. 
10 



114 SONNETS. 

XIX. 

MUSIC (continued.) 

For she thy nature's incarnation is : 
And yet inferior in her noble scope 
Of soul to thee, who'rt mightier. Thy hope 
Is crown'd immortally. We realize 
In her the vast octave of thy sympathies : 
In Consuelo's Conscience which doth cope 
With her Imagination, — the telescope 
We see thy nature through, and yet our eyes 
Behold thee greater than thy best implies. 
Some mighty ones through hideous woes have seen 
(Handel and Hadyn music's harmonies 
Read clear, interpreting for earth :) a screen 
So thick of angel faces orbing them 
As almost to world-usage to be dumb. 
September 21, 1858. 



XX. 

MUSIC (continued.) 

Oh, universal Power I Souls might float 
On thy grand rhythms aye, without a shore : 
Great Goethe knew thee — often did adore 
Thy vastness, lapping his soul in remote 
And divine harmonies too high to suit 
Most souls : more fit for heavenly men to sing 
Who orb the Throne of the Almighty King 
Although they cannot see Him whose gaze smote 



SONNETS. 115 

For myriad Yirtues ; which encompass Him 
And seraphs and archangels, and the throng 
Of cherub faces flash'd between, among 
Higher Radiances : yet thy ceaseless hymn ; 
Keeping time with the music of the spheres ; 
And still discern what soul a Goethe wears. 



XXI. 

MUSIC (concluded.) 

There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-ey"d cherubins : 
Such harmony is in immortal souls. — 

3Ier chant of Venice, Act V., Scene I. 

Oh, Melody, Rhythm, souls are but the motes 
That swim the luminous gulf Eternity : 
Which voiceless is but for thy mystery : 
From kine's sweet-cadenc'd low, on earth, which floats 
O'er poet's ear at morn and eve, to what throats 
Of seraphs sound — and worlds perhaps the keys 
On which thou try'st thy lesser harmonies — 
Thou fillest all things 1 'mid thy rapturous notes 
The Poet finds his heaven ; and does discern 
From deeps lying below tears, and earth's dark curse, 
The Harmonies which orb the Universe ! 
He through thy ministries tardy fame doth earn : 
Sadness and Passion, Triumph, Ecstasy, 
May all oh, Music, find a voice in thee ! 
September 24, 1858. 



116 SONNETS. 



XXII. 



ON SEEING THE PORTRAIT OF RAPHAEL (BY 
HIMSELF) IN THE MUNICH GALLERY. 

Oh, noble relic ! Genius here is shown 
On all thy forehead's placid majesty ; 
In thy head's royal turn ; — thy conscious eye, 
Where the demoniacal soul doth own 
Its Power ; and says : " I sit upon the throne 
Of my large nature's grand supremacy 
Alone — and only Buonarroti see 
Above me : my wide vision dares the noon 
Of God's sweet mysteries, to portray them here : 
All nature my vast Insight pierces keen : 
My ken anticipates Heaven's glories clear, 
To mirror their divineness forth again 
For earth's tranc'd gaze and raptest seraph's smile. 
Which is the high reward of all my toil." 
September 20, 1858. 



XXIII. 

HOMER. 

Thou hast been sought by many a sovereign soul 
Werter's unrest could tolerate but thee ; 
His Author doubtless knew thee oft to be 
The only Harmony fit to control , 

His nature's forces : Homer's song might roll 
Its glorious action, its benignant calm 
Over such soul to grand results : no qualm 
(All its tempestuous vastness could console 



SONNETS. 



117 



Olympian splendors borne on rhythmic balm) 
Of weakness, to impair recipiency 
In Goethe's manhood :— E'en when tanght of ihee 
He conld look up undazzled : while the ''psalm" 
Of his " life" flow'd more smooth, less thunderously 
At sight of thy supreme Serenity. 



XXIV. 

HOMER (continued.) 

Homer, who shew'st us gods and godlike life ! 

'' If thou art made," Heeren might well ask thee 

In the vast joy of immortality — 

Where thou hast scope at last for what was rife 

In thy great Being, — Power without its strife — 

" Happier to look earthward on who drew 

Large mspiration from thy source !" 'Tis true : 

That Bliss to us like eastern hieroglyph 

Such sight must lend beams which can pamt no 

rhyme. 
Who nourish'd Plato, Milton, Pope inspir'd? 
Who suckled Dante and who Goethe fir'd, 
But thou, sublimest Poet of all Time ? 
Troilus and Cressid Shakspeare did woo 
From thee,— thee Eschylus and Yirgil knew. 



118 SONNETS. 

XXV. 
HOMER (concluded.) 

Oh, from the peerless heights still gaze below, 
Thou who hold'st all we know of strength. Repose I 
Incline thy mighty brow toward where it flows 
This restless life — for Action all too low. 
Too shallow thy rapt, noble Calm to know; — 
For e'en among us there are two or three 
Who, Poet, yet reck of these and of Thee : 
This age, cold to heroic Glory's glow 
Homer in verse still unapproach'd doth own ; 
Praise Browning, Sand, Tennyson doth accord ; 
Feels noble Thackeray's keen satiric sword. 
What royal souls vigor and balm have won 
From thee, thou mightiest of the sons of men I 
Thou who gain'st honor from no poet's pen. 
October, 1858. 



THE END. 



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